


Noble Curse

by Tokyo_the_Glaive



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokyo_the_Glaive/pseuds/Tokyo_the_Glaive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To be a noble is to be in danger. Chrom knows this and fears for Lissa's life. He wants to guarantee her safety - but how? A bodyguard might do the trick... (Spoilers for Chapter Nine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Proposition

**Author's Note:**

> This was born, like "In the Cards", from playing Fire Emblem: Awakening and thinking that Chrom was just a little too happy and trusting. Given what he said just before chapter six about what his sister had to live through and what he had to witness, I thought that, just maybe, it may have had a more profound impact on him than his character in the game let on. It all grew from there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chrom tries to use logic to get out of a sticky situation.

Chrom learned several important lessons early on in life. One of the most important was simple: nobles were always in danger.

Whether in peacetime or in war, nobles always faced plots on their lives and threats to their stations. Chrom had seen it first when he was still too young to understand what was happening but old enough to know that something was off. While waging war with Plegia, Chrom's father travelled everywhere with a small squad of his most trusted knights, even within the confines of his own palace. Furthermore, Chrom could not, at the time, grasp why he and his sisters were assigned guards after their mother died - and not because of illness or infirmity.

Her death led to the first execution Chrom ever had to witness. He asked his father afterwards why they had to kill a citizen of Ylisse. His father remained silent and impassive until the alleged murderer's feet stopped twitching, at which point he walked away, Chrom thought, grimly satisfied.

Chrom never saw what had been done to his mother's body, so the lesson remained partially unlearned. When Emmeryn ascended to the throne and became Exalt, however, Chrom witnessed first-hand another vicious example.

The sight of Emmeryn, his peaceful, kind, compassionate sister, left the populace frothing at the mouth not long after she was crowned. It wasn't just jeers and taunts about her age and gender that flew: there were fruit and stones alike, leaving scars and stains that never fully washed away, even if they were forgiven and masked by Emmeryn's endless humility and understanding.

If Chrom didn't understand it when his father was king, he certainly learned quickly when he witnessed Emmeryn, on the verge of tears but unable to cry in public because of her station, struggling to remain composed in a tomato-stained gown that was far too large for her yet-short stature while addressing a wild crowd who clearly took pleasure in her torment. He wouldn't forget the sight of her guards, either; though they "restrained" the crowd, they laughed at her, too. Chrom understood then: to be a noble was a curse, not a blessing. It was to be a moving target, the constant recipient of ridicule and threats.

Chrom's revelation coincided with the discovery of his hatred for the brand that distinguished him as one of House Ylisse. He, at least, could cover his up, and that he did often when he was young and furious at the world for what he perceived to be a radical injustice, that he should be born noble. Chrom dreamed of hiding, of disappearing among the masses and of being accepted in turn by them. Other times, he wished he could just vanish entirely.

Emmeryn, though, could not hide her brand. It was there on her forehead, as plain as day to see, and nothing could disguise her lineage. She could not turn away from the birthright she had never asked for. All she could do was accept her responsibility, and that she did with a grace and dignity that no one ever could have anticipated.

Her acceptance of her fate, and her will to make the world a better place, turned Chrom away from anger. He wanted to be like her, to have the strength of her convictions, and even as a child he strove to keep up with her. If she wasn't going to be bitter, then, gods damn it all, neither was he.

Chrom thought about all of this in his tent on the way back to Ylisstol. After helping Khan Flavia take the throne - Chrom still wasn't sure what the political ramifications of supplanting the previously-throned Khan Basilio were, but so long as Frederick wasn't making noise about it, he figured it couldn't be all that bad - he had insisted that they leave right away. He needed to relay the news of the support that had been promised from Regna Ferox to Emmeryn immediately.

Of course, if Chrom were being honest with himself, he would admit that there was another reason to leave.

Lissa hadn't noticed, but Chrom certainly had, and Frederick and Robin had made their insinuations. Emmeryn was safely tucked away in Ylisstol with Phila and the pegasus knights; Chrom was armed to the teeth at all hours and could fight back with the strength of a bear.

Lissa, at most, could hit an attacker over the head with a staff, if she was coordinated enough, and maybe scream loud enough to attract help, but only if she were lucky.

She had been the object of much attention both on the road and in Regna Ferox. The Plegian bandits they ran across targeted her on the field. That disturbed Chrom enough as it was, but even at the border pass, the Feroxi soldiers had watched her with special attention, speaking in hushed tones and laughing under their breaths. They had watched her, Plegians and Feroxi alike, their weapons unusually close and their eyes in indecent places considering she was a young lady, his _sister_.

Whether they looked at Lissa with lust or with murderous intent, seeing them made Chrom remember: even if her brand never surfaced, even if she would never feel the same kind of pressure as he or Emmeryn in the eyes of the public, she was still a noble, and she was still a target.

Chrom, laying back on his makeshift cot, put his hands over his eyes and groaned. The question he faced was what to do with the problem he had laid before him. He couldn't leave Lissa be and let the chips fall where they may. It was simply too risky for her, even amongst allies, to go without protection anymore.

The young lord's thoughts ran through his mind like water in a raging river. Frederick would accept the task of guarding Lissa without complaint or question. As skilled as he was, though, Chrom was realistic when he discounted him as an option: he was simply too devoted to Chrom. He feared that Frederick, when faced with a choice to protect either Chrom or Lissa in a life-or-death situation, would pick Chrom without regrets. Chrom could protect himself; Frederick was out of the picture.

Vaike was out of the question as well. He was too zealous and too proud to make it work. Also, Chrom admitted to himself, he didn't like the idea of assigning a young man to guard Lissa. There was _temptation_ there, and… Chrom didn't like to think about any of his Shepherds in a negative light, but he reasoned that he had to be cautious. It was Lissa: she needed to be safe. Stahl was out for the same reason.

Robin would do it without being asked twice, but Chrom winced at the thought.  The tactician still had no recollection of anything before waking up in the middle of a field in Ylisse.  Robin had more than enough to manage without adding Lissa to the mix.

Sully would have made a good bodyguard, but she trained with such single-minded determination that she often lost track of the world around her. She worked herself to the point of exhaustion before collapsing for the night, dead to the world for the next several hours while her body recuperated from the intense regimen she forced upon herself.

Chrom grew desperate as he mentally crossed off name after name. Sumia could be counted on in a pinch, but she was altogether too accident-prone and air headed off of the battlefield. Miriel was too wrapped up in her magical experiments - not the other day she had been so engrossed in her reading that she had nearly walked off a cliff. Grasping at straws, Chrom thought blindly of Maribelle, who would have gladly volunteered had she been with the Shepherds, but even she, in absence, was ruled out: she stood about as much of a chance against an assassin as Lissa herself.

That left…no one. Chrom sat up from his reclining position and held his head in his hands. Short of himself, he could think of no one who would be suitable to the job.

Unless…

Chrom felt an idea forming. It was possible - there was still one person. He pursed his lips, wondering whether he was making a good move, then made up his mind, clambered to his feet, and exited the tent.

Frederick was awake and tending to the fire. No one else appeared to be around to witness the knight in his element, watching the flames dance and crackle. Chrom approached without stealth so that he wouldn't be mistaken for an enemy.

"Milord, we will be back on the road to Ylisstol as soon as the sun rises," Frederick said. His face changed as he spoke, his features bordering on impassive. Chrom had noticed it several times before and wondered: he claimed he was so happy as a knight in the service, but was he not much happier with a simple bonfire out in the countryside?

"I know, Frederick. You should be sleeping, too, but I have business with Khan Basilio's man."

"You mean Lon'qu?"

"Yes. Him. Is he still awake?"

The name danced around Chrom's tongue but could not be vocalized. He wasn't intimidated by Lon'qu's laconic nature or his skill with a blade. What bothered Chrom was the way Khan Basilio had given him to the Shepherds, as if a human was just another bargaining chip in the game of war. In practice, maybe that was true, but still…

"It's likely," Frederick was saying, watching his lord intently. Chrom fidgeted under the attention, hoping that the knight didn't notice his anxiety. "He was here not a moment before you arrived, though he made to retire."

Chrom nodded by way of thanks and walked across the camp to Lon'qu's tent. The swordsman had set himself up on the edge of the campsite, far from the fire. The tent stood out from the Shepherds' because it was Lon'qu's own: Chrom recognized the symbol emblazoned on the front as that of the medallion on the swordsman's belt.

Many nights spent on the road had taught Chrom that knocking on a piece of fabric was useless. Instead, he called, "Are you in there?"

"Not yet I'm not. What do you want?"

Chrom jumped, spinning to look behind him. There, standing not ten feet away, was Lon'qu. The Feroxi man appeared to be at ease, though Chrom noticed that one of his hands had fallen to his blade.

"I didn't see you there," Chrom admitted. A silence grew between them as Lon'qu said nothing. The young lord's face flushed with embarrassment; he hadn't been expecting to stand outside of the a tent looking like a fool who didn't know up from down.

"I wanted to speak with you," Chrom tried again.

"I noticed," Lon'qu replied casually. "What do you want?" The repetition was not without aggravation, but it set Chrom at ease. At least he'd said something.

"It's something I noticed in Regna Ferox," Chrom said. Lon'qu's hand was falling from his blade. "You have…issues with women."

The hand curled into a fist in response to Chrom's words. His ears, too, colored bright red, the change of shade visible even in the dark. He gritted his teeth, trying to mask his discomfort, but it was too late.

"I don't-"

"You don't have to make excuses. If you didn't have this particular issue, I wouldn't be standing here right now."

Lon'qu shut his mouth and waited for Chrom to get to the point, clearly annoyed but unable to escape the conversation.

Chrom tried to work out what he wanted to say ahead of time, but he didn't want another long silence, so he settled for, "My question to you is, do you have a problem protecting a woman?"

Lon'qu stood so still that Chrom momentarily thought that he had vanished altogether. He had gone from flushed to pale in an instant. Chrom wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"What makes you think I can protect anyone?" The words were low and harsh, though Chrom thought that he might have detected a note of vulnerability.

"You can," Chrom insisted. _Because you have to_. "You're skilled with a blade - more so than most I've seen. That's why I want you to protect her."

"I refuse."

The point-blank denial made Chrom bristle. "I haven't even told you who I'm talking about!"

Lon'qu had screwed his eyes shut at some point, but whether out of misery or plain exasperation, Chrom couldn't tell. "It doesn't matter," the Feroxi man replied. "I'm no bodyguard, especially not for a woman."

"So you would leave my sister unprotected on the battlefield?" Lon'qu was silent as Chrom spoke. He tried to keep his voice down so that Frederick wouldn't pick up on the sound. "What about off the battlefield? What if there's a threat on her life or her-"

"Is she in danger?"

Chrom stopped himself short to answer the question. "Yes," he said simply.

"How?"

"Lissa is dear to Emmeryn and I. Our enemy knows this - she's a healer, not a fighter, and I can't watch her all the time. And…"

"And?"

Chrom looked at the ground. "She's a young lady," he said softly. "I've seen the way they look at her."

Lon'qu didn't ask who "they" were. When Chrom looked back up, feeling foolish and somehow exposed, Lon'qu wasn't looking at anything in particular. His face was as blank as Frederick's had been, and Chrom didn't like it. He was a blunt man who dealt with things out in the open: he couldn't deal with pent up emotions and words.

He breathed out loudly. "Listen, I'm sorry," he said, speaking even softer. "You already said that your answer is no, and you have a right to it, no questions asked. Lissa is my sister, that's all, and I worry for her. Forgive me. I'll find someone else."

Chrom made to leave, but Lon'qu posed another question.

"What about the others?"

"I didn't ask," Chrom admitted. "My sister is precious to me. Your condition… My sister would be safe around you."

Lon'qu nodded to himself slowly, movement coming back into his limbs. Chrom didn't know what either of them were waiting for.

Finally: "I'll do it."

"Really?"

"Does she know?"

Lon'qu was watching Chrom with an intensity he had never experience among allies. "About the threat? I don't know. She is very observant, but I doubt she'd tell me one way or another. She doesn't like to cause trouble, and she especially dislikes feeling like a liability."

"Good. We'll get along well."

"What, her on one side of the room and you on the other?" Chrom joked.

The look of agreement on Lon'qu's face told him that the scenario he'd conjured in jest might actually play out. He smiled; it would work out. Lon'qu was a good choice.

"You have my gratitude for this." Looking back toward the center of camp, he said, "We march at dawn. We should probably rest before then. … Good night, Lon'qu, and thank you."

The name still felt foreign and awkward on his tongue, but it had finally come out. If the swordsman had noticed how diligently Chrom had avoided his name, he didn't show it. Instead, he grunted, disappearing into the dark of his tent with an expression that was both tense and pensive.

* * *

Morning came quickly. The Shepherds ate, still groggy from the early-morning wakeup, and saddled their horses without much conversation.

Lissa was the usual exception. She was humming quietly to herself as she packed up her tent, a lullaby that their nanny had sung for them long ago. Chrom followed the notes as they came to him, remembering the song, only to be startled by the interrupting screech.

"Chrom!"

She sounded frightened, and he rushed to where her voice came from. His hands fell to Falchion mechanically, ready to fend off any attacker in an instant.

"Lissa?"

"Look!"

Chrom's arm just as quickly dropped from his sword as a smile rose to his face. Lissa's horse had already been saddled and prepared and stood tethered with the others' - though, Chrom noted with a low chuckle, it stood as far from Lon'qu's as possible.

The swordsman, for his part, was busy getting ready to leave. Lissa's screech seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, but Chrom knew better. After all, Lissa's horse hadn't been on the end to begin with, nor had it been so handsomely groomed since the Shepherds had left the palace.

After reassuring Lissa that no foul demon had worked on her horse and explaining to the Shepherds that there was no cause for alarm, Chrom himself got ready to leave. He did a last minute turn around the campsite with Frederick to make sure nothing important got left behind.

Chrom was satisfied: there was no sign that the Shepherds had camped on the road at all - with the odd exception of the bodies of two Plegians, if Chrom had to guess by the coat of arms he could see on the armor.

Frederick knelt beside the bodies, checking them over.

"Based on where they were, the probably intended to strike Milady's tent before they were waylaid. They were ambushed, based on the cuts, and by someone with incredible skill. I, for one, heard nothing last night. … Do you know of this, milord?"

Chrom shrugged. "We should go, Frederick. There's news to be relayed, after all."

Lon'qu's horse drifted close by. "…Is there a problem?"

Frederick looked between him and his lord with concern and distrust. He wanted to speak but Chrom interrupted.

"None at all," Chrom replied. "We'll be off immediately." Chrom gave a curt nod in addition, which the swordsman pretended not to see. Frederick knew then that some agreement had been made and was clearly hurt by the secrecy. Chrom wanted to apologize but couldn't: he knew that he'd made the right decision in passing over his loyal knight for Lon'qu. Lissa had to be kept safe, no matter the cost.


	2. Misplaced Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frederick realizes that he has been left out.

Frederick had never learned how to relax.

As a knight, he stood out from most of his comrades because of his overwhelming zeal and his incessant need to help out in any way possible. When the strict Ylissean training regimen didn't dictate early morning exercises for the next day, Frederick didn't go out to a bar and end up drunk out of his mind. His lot didn't involve waking up the next morning with a killer headache in the arms of one of the supple tavern-wenches. Instead, he stayed behind at the barracks, making sure the weapons and supplies were in order and adequately maintained for training purposes. He did rounds on an empty camp, sweeping paths, checking the uniforms for holes in the cloth and scratches on the metal and leather, working well into the night on the most menial of tasks. And gods damn it all if he didn't wake up at the crack of dawn the next day to train, working himself to the very bone.

If it meant that he wasn't particularly close to the rest of the knights, Frederick insisted that he didn't care. He was doing his part for the good of the realm. In the end, wasn't that all that mattered?

His over-exuberance had won him the attention of the Exalt herself. Frederick privately wondered whether his superiors had praised him or begged her to get rid of him, but one way or another Emmeryn had appointed him to protect her two younger siblings not long ago. He had been ushered into the newly founded "Shepherds" and appointed Chrom's deputy at once. He had originally protested, and quite loudly: wasn't the role of the nobility to be in Ylisstol, the seat of governance? Frederick's mind could conjure any number of situations where the heir apparent would have to step in to fill the Exalt's shoes at a moment's notice. Even putting that aside, Chrom's idea, to go gallivanting off through the countryside checking on villages and cities, nobles and commoners alike to make sure that the country ran smoothly, seemed downright foolish. To be a noble in the public eye, Frederick thought, was to be in horrific danger. The front lines, whether in peacetime or in war, were for knights.

He had expressed so much to Emmeryn at the first possible moment. He remembered the ensuing conversation well: he had fought to keep his demeanor in check with the young Exalt, so close to him in age yet of such greater import, as he tried to explain as politely as possible that her little brother was liable to get himself and the rest of his friends summarily killed.

Emmeryn had smiled, and Frederick knew then that he'd lost the argument. She thanked him for his caution: that was, she explained, why she had chosen him over all others to protect her family. She could rely on him to be ever-wary of danger and mindful of the consequences of leading such a lifestyle as Chrom had suggested. That being said, she was fully in favor of Chrom's proposal. The Shepherds would make it their mission to travel the country and maintain peace.

Frederick had bowed and acquiesced. The Exalt knew the best course.

As Frederick settled into life with Chrom and the Shepherds, he found that he stuck out even more than he had before. There was, of course, the issue of class. It wasn't the hierarchy itself that he minded: it was the separation it created, a gap that could never be appropriately bridged by any degree of servitude. Chrom was a prince: heir to the halidom and bearer of the brand of House Ylisse, it would be no stretch of the imagination to say that he stood as the single most important man in all of the kingdom, perhaps even all of the continent. He was a noble among lesser nobles, too: Maribelle hailed from a prestigious family that had been founded around the same time as House Ylisse; Sully stood as the most recent in a long line of knights and lords; Ricken's family, though recently fallen on hard times, still bore several important titles with pride; and Sumia, if not precisely of noble background, hailed from far more than modest means.

Then, of course, there was Lissa. In spite of her high position, Frederick had heard rumors about her, most of them unkind. They called her a bastard child - a "natural" born, the result of an affair of the Queen's. They claimed she did not have the Brand.

Frederick gave those rumors no credence. The Exalt claimed Lissa as her little sister: that should have been enough for anyone.

The other Shepherds, to be sure, were of common stock. Kellam came from some godforsaken little village where he had worked on a farm before taking up the lance. Vaike came from one of the slums that had cropped up during the old war with Plegia and which now proved nigh impossible to eradicate. Miriel, for all of her edified education, had actually been born quite poor, though to a genius mother, or so she claimed. Stahl was the son of a simple apothecary. Robin came from nowhere.

All in all, Frederick stuck out. He wasn't a noble. He preferred not to speak about his childhood because it was something about which he preferred not to think. He worked harder than anyone else at everything to try to smooth out the differences, to try to devote himself entirely to his master - for that was how Frederick thought of Chrom now - but it was impossible. Because even if he did somehow transcend, even if he could make himself the perfect servant, there was still one glaring fact that would always set the others above him.

They had been chosen. They had been handpicked, in some cases plucked out of the dirt by some divine grace.

He had been assigned. Frederick could be an escort, a guardian, and a watchdog, but while the Shepherds could grow closer to one another and become friends, he could not. He was doomed, by virtue of his assignment, to stand on the outside.

He could do that. He was ready and willing to be the eternal knight, ever vigilant and watchful. He relished in the challenge and the service he would be providing. Even if he never achieved the same kind of relationship as others in the Shepherds, he knew that he would be of more service than they could ever be.

But gods _damn_ it all if he didn't deserve to be trusted just as much as the rest of them.

As Frederick rode (at the back of the party, as was his custom; it wouldn't do to be ambushed on the road), following Chrom's directive to return to Ylisstol as soon as possible, his eyes fixed involuntarily on Lon'qu's back while he thought things over. The swordsman knew how to handle a saddle well: he moved with the horse, not jostling or bouncing the way new recruits often did when they didn't know how to handle the beasts.

Frederick half-wished the laconic Feroxi would fall out of the saddle and make a fool of himself.

Of course, Frederick only wished that because he felt like he had somehow been played for a fool by the others. Something was afoot: Chrom was an open book to anyone who knew him, and it seemed for all the world that he was keeping a secret. Lon'qu was at the center of it: of that, Frederick was sure. Those Plegians hadn't been killed by the stroke of Naga. A human hand had cut them down, and Frederick was willing to bet his position in the Shepherds that it had been Lon'qu.

Chrom and Lon'qu, Lon'qu and Chrom - and a couple of dead assassins. They could have been going for anyone, but they had been closest to Lissa's tent. Frederick's mind slid the pieces around. Lissa was Chrom's sister. Lissa was a noble. Lissa was nearly defenseless by herself.

Though, Frederick added with pride, she would never be defenseless while he still drew breath. Lon'qu had no business skulking around outside of her tent. Maybe it hadn't been on purpose: she was a woman, and if Frederick had to judge, Lon'qu had a definite aversion to women on the whole. On top of that, he was a hired hand: he wouldn't do what he hadn't been ordered to.

So what had happened? Frederick reasoned that it could have just been a curious incident. Lon'qu killed two assassins while doing a patrol of his own, maybe for his own peace of mind. He didn't care where they were or how they had gotten there. Maybe he'd told Chrom about it afterwards - but then why would Chrom keep it quiet? Why not offer an explanation?

Perhaps the young lord simply hadn't thought it important enough, but if that had been the case, Chrom wouldn't be acting so strangely. Frederick could tell: he had a secret, he knew he did. Frederick's mind ran in and out, examining possibilities but coming up with no real solutions. As the Shepherds rode on and on along the Northroad, Frederick made a decision about the matter and swore not to think about it until it was time to implement his plan. A few questions would clear it up.

But Frederick had never learned to relax, and for hours on end, he fretted and worried and prayed for some outcome, he knew not what.

* * *

The Shepherds stopped only once for a quick lunch break before they resumed their southern course. Then, after many more hours of riding through relatively featureless countryside, the sun began to dip toward the western horizon, and Frederick breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't tired; his training had conditioned him such that he could have ridden for much longer. Lon'qu, Frederick noted with distaste, glancing quickly at this evening's target, could have done the same. Frederick did his best to shake the Feroxi from his mind. He was glad, he told himself, that he would be able to take some action instead of just worrying. All would be cleared up soon.

In the midst of his thoughts, he realized that he heard something unusual: a humming noise, one not at all unpleasant. It took him a moment - too long, he thought bitterly, chastising himself for his inattention - to determine the source.

The hummer was, of all people, Lissa. She was beaming ear to ear as she picked out the notes to a song Frederick felt he'd heard sung before. The strange part wasn't the song, it was the entire demeanor: Lissa didn't hold up very well on the road. Whether she liked it or not, she was the fragile one.

As if reading Frederick's mind, she turned him to him, breaking off her song. "You know, it's weird," she said, stretching her arms, "but I'm hardly sore at all! I mean, that was a really long ride, wasn't it? I can't put my finger on what made it different!"

"Maybe you're just getting used to the road," Chrom offered, approaching with a large bundle of firewood. The lord worked fast; then again, the sun wasn't taking its time in setting. Frederick redoubled his efforts to get the tents driven into the ground while there was still natural light.

"Nah, I think it's something else," Lissa responded. "Hey, are you sure someone didn't hex my horse?"

Ah, the incident with the horse. Frederick wondered which of the good Shepherds had been kind enough to outfit the beast for her. Darkness was falling fast, but even with the heavy shadows, Frederick could see Lissa's beaming smile, and he was grateful to whoever had done her the service. She was comfortable and happy - just like any princess was meant to be. He turned away quickly, though: after all, he wasn't watching her so closely as to notice how she walked with a certain spring in her step, or how she petted her horse with uncommon fondness and talked with Sumia about the animals for longer than she was wont to, or how even the wild game Sully caught for dinner didn't turn her stomach.

Chrom, however, was that attentive and asked, "What's got you in such high spirits? You're not usually this cheerful after a long march."

"Oh, it's nothing. I've just figured it out, that's all."

Frederick watched Chrom carefully. The lord had paled somewhat, the easy smile becoming more forced. It only served to confirm Frederick's suspicions: something was afoot, Chrom was involved, Lissa was involved, assassins fit in - and Lon'qu. He couldn't forget Lon'qu. The swordsman was eating silently close to Kellam, not looking at anyone in particular. Vaike tried to instigate a conversation with him, but he didn't speak. Fredrick's mind could be in both places at once, though; he returned his focus to the nobles' conversation.

"Huh?" Chrom had asked.

Lissa winked and put a finger to her lips. "I've got a guardian angel!"

"Guardian… What?"

"Guardian angel! You know, like someone looking out for you! Gosh, Chrom, sometimes you're really thick."

"Hey!"

"It's true!"

"Heh, fine," Chrom said, looking infinitely more at ease than before. "We'll see about that. If you've got some guardian angel, who is it?"

Lissa pouted and folded her arms. "It's not a person, silly. It's a spirit! Don't you remember anything about guardian angels?"

Chrom twisted his lips to fight back laughter. "No. Why should I?"

"Mother used to read us the stories, remember?" Chrom's face crashed, but Lissa was looking into the fire, deep in memory. Frederick froze at the mention: that subject had always been out of bounds. "The spirits sent by Naga to protect her people: those were the guardian angels! They do stuff like clean while you're sleeping and all kinds of impossible things. Don't you remember?"

Chrom picked himself back up enough to answer, "Cleaning doesn't sound very ethereal to me." This earned him a smack over the head with Lissa's healing staff. "Oof-! What was that for?"

"I've got an angel! Just you wait - I'll show you!"

Frederick was so busy watching his two charges bicker that he nearly lost his own footing. He tried to convince himself that he hadn't been fixated on the turn of Lissa's mouth or the way Chrom's eyes widened when he was relieved, but he couldn't lie, especially not to himself. It was his duty, he reasoned, that he should observe to closely.

Whatever was afoot, Lissa was part of it without knowing it, of that he was now sure. If she knew about the assassins at all, she didn't know how or why they were there or what had happened. As for the strange occurrence of the horse, Frederick had stopped believing in guardian angels when they had failed him as a child - there were human elements at work here, not divine ones. That, though, would be a different investigation. For now, Chrom had proven that he didn't want to talk about it openly; if he had, he would have by now. They'd had plenty of time. Frederick reasoned that he could get nothing from badgering his lord. All that he could do was wait: Lon'qu was still eating, and the rest of the Shepherds were still milling around. A couple more hours at most: he could wait that long.

* * *

By the time the last of the Shepherds finally turned in for the night, Frederick was at the end of his rope. Maybe they had picked up on some of his nervous energy (he was actually shaking - Lissa noticed and asked if he was running a fever) but they took longer than usual to call it a day. He dutifully tended to the fire and worked to preoccupy himself with his usual tasks, but his work was slipshod and his was disgusted with himself for both his inadequacy and his inability to relax. Not that, he thought bitterly, he ever could. The day was becoming more taxing than he ever could have anticipated.

It was only when Lissa fell asleep against Chrom's side and the lord, for his part, decided to turn in as well that Frederick found himself alone at last. Lon'qu slunk off not long after Lissa dozed off; until then, he had remained at the campfire, further out than most of the other Shepherds, watching the flames dance. He'd looked so absent that Frederick had almost approached him, but he had a plan, and he intended to stick to it.

With the lord and lady in their respective tents and the rest of the Shepherds fast asleep, Frederick stripped himself of his armor, keeping only his sword. Lon'qu hadn't disappeared so long ago: he would have to be close. Frederick made sure that the fire wouldn't spread before following the general direction the swordsman had taken.

He had planned on hunting the Feroxi like any other wild game - men were not so different than animals when they didn't want to be found. At least, that was the logic behind it all. Lon'qu's tracks, according to Frederick's expectations, proved initially easy to follow. They led into a dense patch of woods, generally sticking to a trail that Sully had, apparently, also discovered: Frederick could see her prints going forward and back, though after a certain distance there was only the steady stride of a Feroxi. However, those soon faded and then disappeared altogether. Frederick understood soon enough: the swordsman knew that he was being followed. An uneasy feeling crept up Frederick's spine, and he reached for the sword at his side. He couldn't see more than ten feet around him, and even that was shaded and dulled to the point that there were only dim shadows.

The fear kicked in then. If anyone could have seen Frederick's face at that moment, they would have witnessed a cross of terror and shame. He felt like a child, a stupid, foolish child, wandering alone in the dark in the woods against the wishes of his mother, not thinking about the consequences…

Something snapped. Frederick's ears were working overtime: he thought he could hear the very grass under his feet responding to his pulse. A twig, a branch - stepped on, no doubt, but by what? Human? Bear? Wolf? Frederick shuddered. Assassins and beasts surrounded his mind. He fought the urge to spin in place, knowing he would only become disoriented. If only he could think straight - but his mind had reverted; he was small and weak and frightened and alone in a forest he did not know, far from the loving reach of his mother.

But he wasn't: he was a grown man, far from the place he had called home as a boy; his mother had died of disease and his father of war - but now there was a blade at his throat. His thoughts stopped. There was a blade. At his throat.

Even in the dark, Frederick recognized the distinctive curve of the edge and lifted his hands in gratitude. Were it anyone else, of course, he would have been dead. The blade was lifted, and he turned.

"I can explain," Frederick began, but Lon'qu held a finger to his lips, motioning for silence. The knight, still feeling flushed and ashamed of himself, acquiesced. With a slight nod, he followed the Feroxi, keeping closer than he would have liked to admit, as the swordsman led them both out of the forest. Frederick soon discovered that the path Lon'qu had taken through the underbrush put them out close to Lissa's tent.

Only when they were in the open did Lon'qu speak, and even then he did not sheath his sword. Not wanting to look as much the lesser as he felt, Frederick copied the gesture, keeping the point close to the grass but the hilt firm in hand.

"Explain," Lon'qu ordered tersely, clearly displeased.

"I followed you out of concern for my lord."

The swordsman was neither impressed nor swayed by the explanation. Frederick felt his pulse working overtime; this hadn't gone as he had hoped.

"I wish to know what agreement you struck with my lord."

"You mean he didn't ask you first?"

Frederick eyed Lon'qu warily. While he hadn't been looking, the Feroxi's entire posture had changed. He looked a cross between surprised and livid - to be honest, Frederick had been unaware that the swordsman was capable of showcasing that much emotion at once.

"I do not understand the question."

"The girl, his sister," Lon'qu said, "he didn't ask you first?"

"My lord asked me for nothing."

Lon'qu took a deep breath in and exhaled, something akin to realization striking his features. "Of course. He said he hadn't, though I had assumed you were the exception…" Frederick waited for an elaboration that didn't come. Instead, Lon'qu said, "Chrom asked me to be the girl's bodyguard. He believes her life to be in danger."

Frederick's body flushed with a range of emotions he couldn't begin to process all at once. "What?!"

"He did not explain," Lon'qu said stiffly, and Frederick had the undeniable urge to call him a liar. _Something_ had to have been said, _something_ had been explained. "He merely asked me to protect her."

"And you agreed?" Frederick sounded more desperate than he'd intended, but he couldn't fix his voice. "I thought, what with your _condition_ …"

Frederick thought he was hitting below the belt, but the Feroxi just regarded him with cool detachment. "Hey. I work for him. He tells me what to do. I do it."

"I thought you were Khan Basilio's man."

"I am. I'm on loan. So long as it acts in Ferox's interest, whatever orders I get, I take."

Frederick felt his shoulders drop. He realized now that this wasn't Lon'qu's fault, if it could be said to be anyone's at all. Lon'qu did what he was told. Rather like himself, Frederick had to admit. No questions, no hesitation - only action and endless devotion.

Looking at the swordsman, maybe devotion wasn't the best word. But he certainly did as he was told: nothing more, and nothing less.

"Thank you," Frederick said, the words feeling strange in his mouth. He felt deflated and sick.

Lon'qu made no direct response to the statement. "I'm going back out. Don't follow me again. You make too much noise."

Frederick was wordless as Lon'qu walked back toward the woods. His steps in the grass were soundless: he was a shade amongst the trees, and then he was gone, leaving Frederick feeling alone and very, very foolish.

 _Relax_ , he thought. _Someone's protecting Lady Lissa._

He chuckled to himself in misery as he returned to his tent. That somebody wasn't him, and he had never learned how to relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't as prim and perfect as I'd like it to be (honestly, writing Frederick is possibly the most difficult thing I've ever tried to do in the Fire Emblem canon) but I couldn't get it out of my head. Hopefully the voice rings true. I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lon'qu tries to isolate himself and fails spectacularly.

Speaking with Frederick had been a difficult affair. In comparison, the emptiness of the Ylissean forest felt like home. Painfully so, in fact: the climates of southern Ylisse and Chon'sin were not so different. There had been a grove of trees not far from the place where Lon'qu had been born; he and Ke'ri would go there often, sparring with whatever sturdy twigs they could find on the sun-dappled paths. Sometimes they were serious, but more often than not they'd laugh while they traded blows, nearly dancing with each other as they worked to forget the place to which they would have to invariably return.

Lon'qu banished the thought. He couldn't think about that. He didn't want to think about anything.

The Feroxi breathed deeply and steadily as he walked through the dark forest. Each tree was tall and straight up and down, the bark smooth until the branches began to sprout somewhere around two stories up. Thick ivy encased the trunks of many, in some cases climbing all the way up to envelop the limbs of the tree as well. They were unusually short branches, considering the breadth of the leaves they supported. The canopy formed by the leaves was high and nigh impenetrable: though the stars were visible that night from the campground, none could be seen in the thick of the woods. Ferns and grass covered the ground, and the dirt beneath them was scarcely visible. In the few places where there must have been the bare minimum of sunlight during the day, hedges tried to grow.

The night-sounds of the forest called to each other from all around. An owl hooted softly, and cicadas sang as if in constant response with their vibratory voices. Mosquitos, too, buzzed about, seeking fresh blood. Another insect - _"Lightning bugs!" Ke'ri had decreed_ \- the thought was squashed and retired. Countless specimens of a _certain_ kind of insect filled the air further in, their bodies lighting up at regular intervals.

Finally and unexpectedly there was a meadow, a wide open space. Surrounded by an ellipse of trees, it seemed somehow at the heart of things. A pair of luna moths fluttered together, spinning dizzily in the air as if intoxicated. The sound of mosquitos buzzing disappeared, and their absence could be traced to the broad swath of air now visible without the canopy of leaves: up high, bats darted to and fro, eating voraciously as they flew about haphazardly.

For the first time since leaving the campground, Lon'qu sheathed his sword. There were to be no enemies that night. The Plegians, accustomed as they were to the open desert and the flat plains, knew not the art of stealth. Nature gave them away: where their boots touched ground, the birds fell silent and the insects refused to even hum.

Feroxi soldiers, Khan Basilio had once told him, had the same problem. They were used to fighting in the brutal cold across ice fields and in blinding blizzards. They had no need for the arts of the assassin: they faced each other head on in combat. That was, the khan explained, why Lon'qu would forever be an outsider. He could steal through the night and walk with utter silence: he would never be a Feroxi. He'd said it with a laugh. Lon'qu had felt a hurt he could not place.

No, Lon'qu thought, forcing his mind back into silence. He'd been doing so well, losing himself in what he saw. He tried to reclaim what he felt he'd lost by looking up at the sky. Here, at least, the stars were visible. They shone like diamonds in a dowager's gown, set in such a way as to catch the eye and hold it. Some of the Feroxi constellations were visible even in the south. There was the warrior Sigrit, the strongest man ever to live, who had supposedly been Ferox's first reigning khan. Close at hand was the mighty axe Armads, a legendary relic that had long ago faded from existence. It had allegedly caused Ferox's split into two kingdoms because the twin children of the last khan to rule over the united lands couldn't agree on who should take it up and fought a bloody war. (The legends varied, Khan Basilio had told him. The names of the children were lost to history, so no one could even determine the correct gender of the founders of each house. The stories also diverged on a rather important point: while many said that the war had been waged for the right to take up the axe, just as many speculated that, in fact, neither heir had wanted the "cursed" relic to begin with and subsequently fought over the right _not_ to have it.)

The Feroxi swordsman sat down in the grass and shut his eyes. The air was damp and heavy, but it was also sweet. He recognized the scent: the fragrance came from a certain kind of flower. It was a plum blossom, he recalled. They had bloomed where they used to spar - he and Ke'ri - and she would pick the flowers whenever they appeared, in the latter part of winter or in early spring, to make little bouquets with them.

With a groan, Lon'qu laid back on the grass, already wet with dew, and put his hands over his face. He would be granted no reprieve tonight. His mind was set against him: it dredged up a past he didn't want and showcased it alongside the elements of the present he least liked. It didn't often happen like this, when his thoughts came as rolling waves that beat against him and refused to subside. With a little concentration, by focusing entirely on phenomena external to him and forgetting that he had a body and a mind at all, Lon'qu could usually push his memories off to the side, out of sight and mind.

He blamed Frederick.

He sat up. No, it wasn't his fault. Lon'qu grimaced. Maybe it was.

Damn the knight for giving him this trouble. He'd looked so pathetic, it had set Lon'qu on edge. That was it. And double damn the lord for starting it. He'd looked pathetic, too. In fact, the two had looked almost the same.

Lon'qu picked a blade of grass, watching as the luna moths reappeared before him. They tumbled through the air together for some time longer before separating, flying in different directions. Lightning bugs appeared in the growing space between them, blinking against the darkness.

He could handle this rationally. Just because neither lord nor knight seemed capable of dealing with anything by themselves didn't mean that he had to be equally weak. All he needed to do was sit and think and the answer to all of this would come to him.

Frederick wanted to protect someone who he cared about. Lon'qu would have been a liar if he'd said that he didn't find it admirable. But Frederick hadn't been chosen for the task. Why? Chrom had offered his reason, scanty in proof though it was: the girl would be safe with him. Gynophobia, indeed.

But there was no reason to think that Frederick would ever harm the girl. He was a seasoned, loyal, dutiful knight, so far as Lon'qu could tell. A man of upright character and moral bearing. He was powerful, too, an absolute demon on the battlefield. If anyone had to point out the strongest member of the Shepherds, all hands would immediately turn to Frederick. He was strong, quick, and incredibly skilled. When he told his enemies to pick a god and pray, friend and foe alike knew that it was all over.

A walking wall of steel with a heart of gold. Lon'qu had to scoff, but it was true: for a bodyguard, no one could do better. Guarding required some degree of _proximity_ , and… He wasn't interested. Frederick would be perfect.

It seemed so simple. All he had to do, he reasoned, was tell Chrom to reassign the job. He would suggest Frederick. The deed would be done; getting away from the petite cleric who he'd been assigned to guard would be a bonus. Her horse, at least, was well-tempered, but the little noble herself wasn't someone Lon'qu had any desire to become close with on any level. The less attention he was forced to pay to the girl who, by virtue of her healing staff, had to accompany them on the battlefield every day, the better.

Lon'qu nodded to himself as he began the walk back to the campground. It was an easy solution. Clean. Nearly effortless. He'd take care of it in the morning.

* * *

Perhaps it was not so simple.

Two weeks passed before Lon'qu could even find the time to speak to Chrom at all. The Shepherds arrived in Ylisstol just in time to discover that a nobleman's daughter had been taken across the Plegian border and was being held hostage. Then assassins struck the palace with an admittedly ingenious plan to kill the Exalt. It would have worked had Chrom not been tipped off in advance by an anonymous source. Then the Shepherds had tried to relocate the Exalt, only to have the armies of Plegia lay siege to Ylisstol. Now the Exalt herself had been kidnapped while Chrom was back in Regna Ferox bargaining for soldiers.

Needless to say, things had been busy. Lon'qu had cut Risen and brigands down left and right, sticking closer to Chrom's younger sister than he otherwise would have liked. She was catching on, he knew. She had tried to talk to him on several occasions, but he had brushed her off. It couldn't continue much longer.

It was late at night when Lon'qu finally heard that Chrom was free enough to speak with anyone other than Robin or one of the khans. The Shepherds, after a quick bout of negotiations that had mostly consisted of both Khan Basilio and Khan Flavia being considerably more level-headed than usual, were set to march at dawn with a sizable Feroxi army behind them. A Ylissean force would be gathered after the march began; the army could then take Plegia by force. Chrom had wanted to set off the moment Robin finalized a plan of attack, but an unexpected snowstorm, a phenomenon that the Feroxi termed the White Winds, had struck just after sundown, forcing the entire garrison to stay at the capital at least until morning.

As Lon'qu walked to where Chrom was housed, he had to hand it to Khan Flavia: she had worked up a fair bit of what could only be termed magic to make things look better than they were. All of the Shepherds had been crammed inside the fortress that functioned as the eastern palace and, where possible, were given rooms of their own. Lon'qu shook his head at the thought: even the horses had been stabled inside to ensure that they didn't drop dead from the frigid cold. That, he thought bitterly, was a luxury afforded to few Feroxi. Conditions in the northern regions had never been good, but following the shift of power from West to East, Lon'qu had heard that things were worse than ever. Regna Ferox's history was as long as it was bloody, and the nation had fought more civil wars than every other country in existence combined, the conflicts often stemming from the shift of the throne. Regna Ferox, Khan Basilio had told him, was like a pile of dry straw in the summer: all one needed was a single match, and all would go up in flames. The weather and the Risen certainly weren't making anything better: it was colder than it had been in years, and villages that managed to raise crops or ration their stores found themselves attacked by either the infernal undead corpses or farmers who had turned to pillaging to get by. It was a veritable perfect storm.

And yet, Khan Flavia still kept up a good face. There was a feast, admittedly not as grand as she would have liked, for the benefit of the Shepherds that evening, and she had pulled out all of the stops to make it a comfortable stay. That Khan Basilio helped rather than hindered the process made it all possible.

All thoughts of Ferox's state of affairs vanished as Lon'qu arrived in front of Chrom's door. It was slightly ajar; the swordsman narrowed his eyes. It was dark within, and he could hear no sounds. A hand dropped to his blade while the other pushed the door all of the way open, ensuring no assailant could appear from behind it.

The room was empty except for Chrom, who stood in absolute silence by the room's single window. He appeared to be looking out at the rapidly piling snow, although his features were difficult to ascertain in the darkness. The room was in complete disarray. The desk maintained some semblance of order, but the blessed blade Falchion lay on the floor, unsheathed, alongside the half cloak Chrom was fond of wearing. The sheets had been ripped nearly off of the bed; it appeared that Chrom planned on sleeping on the floor. Khan Flavia would have been embarrassed and possibly hurt to see such a blatant rejection of her hospitality. Lon'qu, for his part, wouldn't be the one to tell her.

Chrom made a sound that sounded like a stifled question, then said, "Oh, it's you. How can I help you?"

Lon'qu hesitated, wondering if he ought to wait. "Were you expecting someone?"

Even in the dark, Lon'qu could see the circles under Chrom's eyes. The news about the Exalt's impending execution hung heavy over his head.

"Lissa," Chrom answered. "I figured she'd drop by at some point." He fidgeted, his fingers twitching with nothing to do. He settled for scratching at his arm, tracing the lines of the brand of House Ylisse. The silence that settled bothered Lon'qu, and he decided that it was up to him to break it.

"I wanted to ask you," he said, "about the job." Chrom was silent. Lon'qu grimaced. The noble wasn't exactly loquacious, but he was usually more talkative than this. Once again, he considered whether or not it had been imprudent to ask on that particular evening. He sighed audibly, and Chrom finally looked at him. Lon'qu realized that he had started this: now he needed to finish it. If he walked out, it would be too difficult to restart the conversation.

"I believe you should reassign it to Frederick," Lon'qu suggested.

Chrom's eyes narrowed sharply. "Why?"

Lon'qu was prepared with his explanation. "He is strong. Dedicated. He will not harm her."

"Are you saying that you're incapable of protecting my sister?"

The words were harsh - harsher, perhaps, than the lord had intended. "You twist my words. I said no such thing."

"Then why?"

Lon'qu considered telling Chrom what had happened: how Fredrick had snuck off, how hurt the knight had been to discovered that he'd been passed over for the task that he performed without fail every single day. And he _had_ been hurt.

But he couldn't come out with that. That moment had been…private. Lon'qu didn't know why, he only knew it to be true. He tried a different tactic.

"Is there a threat to her life?"

"Huh?"

Lon'qu hated repeating himself. "Listen. You give orders, I cut people. That's our agreement. Only, there have been no people to cut. Is there truly a plot on her life?"

"You saw for yourself! The assassins that you killed that morning-"

"-were unskilled brigands who probably didn't know whose tent they were about to raid. They were no professionals."

"How do you know?"

The accusation was heavy, but Lon'qu shrugged it off. "I ought to. I killed them. You see a man's true nature when you kill him."

Chrom's face screwed up as if about to make an angry retort, but he fell silent as Lon'qu's words hit him. The Feroxi watched him from his post at the doorway without mercy. It had only been a guess, but it appeared as if he'd been correct: Chrom had assigned his sister a bodyguard under the pretext of danger, while in reality all he really wanted was someone to keep an eye out for her at all times. Lon'qu grimaced. Nobles. They never said what they meant. They always thought they had to lie, to dramatize everything, to get attention the attention they wanted. Idiots.

"What would you have me do?" Chrom asked quietly. "She's my sister."

"She's not my problem," Lon'qu snapped, his words harsher than need be. "She already has a willing bodyguard. Let him do it."

Chrom sunk his head in his hands and cradled it. "Please don't do this now."

The words seemed so strange coming from Chrom's mouth, Lon'qu didn't know what to do with them. His first reaction was to assume that he was being mocked, and he replied accordingly, "I have no intention of being her guard forever."

But then Chrom shifted, sinking to his knees on the floor. He rested his thighs against his feet as he stared at the floor. "Please," he repeated. Lon'qu could say nothing. "Please. If only until someone else strikes. I know they're after her." His voice cracked. It was pathetic, _pathetic_ , and- "Just… Keep her safe. I know we'll rescue Emmeryn, but I… I'll only have one sister left to protect if something goes wrong. Please."

It took a few moments for Lon'qu to realize that his lips were moving without parting as his brain tried to formulate something to articulate. What could be said? Nothing. Chrom was the one on his knees, but he had Lon'qu up against a wall: he had someone who he had to protect. Didn't he have a right to that? Didn't everyone?

"Get some rest. I have rounds to do." Lon'qu turned his back on Chrom, looking both ways down the hallway. "We'll settle this at a later point."

Chrom shifted inside the room, but Lon'qu wasn't looking. The Feroxi sank his shoulders and cracked his neck. It was going to be another long night. Steeling himself against thoughts of the comfortable room Khan Basilio had set aside for him, he walked - without a sound - down the hall. Lady Lissa's room wasn't far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This...took me way too long to write. Lon'qu is even harder to write for than Frederick... It's not perfect (apologies for any typographical errors; I went through twice to catch as many as possible but they always slip in here and there) but I'm posting it as-is because I want to wrap this project up and start on some other things that are rolling around in my brain. As usual, R&R is always welcome, I don't own Fire Emblem or anything licensed by Nintendo, etc., etc. Enjoy!


	4. A Little Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lissa rides the adolescent emotional roller coaster.

Lissa had known that something was up from the beginning.

…Okay, maybe not since the _beginning_. Maybe she had kind-of-sort-of-almost-definitely believed that she had one of her mother's guardian angels following her around, making her life easier. But as time had gone on, she'd have been an idiot not to notice: that swordsman was _always there_. On the battlefield, Lissa figured it made sense. They were fighting the same fights, after all. But whenever they pitched camp, even Lon'qu's tent would be within sight of Lissa's. After his oh-so warm reception of her when they'd first met, she had soon noticed his change in behavior.

Well, once again, maybe not immediately. But she had figured it out: she had a new guard, and his name was Lon'qu. Otherwise, she had a creepy stalker and his name was Lon'qu, but Lissa didn't find that very likely, so bodyguard he was. The little princess wondered why Chrom had left it to her to figure out that she had a new guardian. She'd given him several opportunities to come out and tell her, but he'd dodged her every time. It seemed strange not to say anything to her: after all, she was the person meant to be protected. It worked better when the protected knew who to turn to if trouble came knocking.

Even if Chrom decided never to tell her, though, Lissa knew that she was right, and that night in Regna Ferox, she meant to prove it. A campsite was large and had a perimeter that could be patrolled; a fortress in the middle of a pretty awesome snowstorm, on the other hand, was a contained space. It was logical to do it that night, too, because, well -- because that's what all spies did, of course! No one did their spying during the day; if they did, they would be just _asking_ to be caught.

The little princess sat on the edge of her bed, prepared for her stakeout. Adjusting her skirts for comfort, she settled into her position. He'd have to come close sooner or later. When he did, she'd be ready.

* * *

It turned out to be later rather than sooner. Lissa had planned on staying up to catch just a glimpse of the swordsman at work, but she had maybe - and the possibility there was pretty big - fallen asleep with her candle still burning. She wasn't sleeping deeply, though, because when her ears first picked up the sound of very light steps, she had thrown off her blankets and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to meet the frigid stone of the floor. Her mind, though, hadn't caught up with her body: her first thought was that she wasn't at home in Ylisstol, and the second was that there was no reason to go to the door because Chrom would have knocked and Emmeryn, with her light steps just like the ones Lissa thought she'd heard, wasn't there. Still half asleep, she chided herself for getting up and got back into bed, blowing out the candle for good measure. She yawned as she decided that it had only been one of the Shepherds pacing outside the door.

One of the Shepherds. Lon'qu. Bodyguard. Staying up late to catch him in the act. If Maribelle hadn't been so adamant to insist that cursing was the antithesis to nobility, Lissa would have let out a string of some of the worst that she'd learned from Sully. She'd gone and fallen asleep and totally forgotten about her mission.

Lissa rubbed her eyes and groaned. It had been the perfect opportunity to catch Lon'qu. Lissa hadn't been eavesdropping or anything, but earlier she'd heard Khan Flavia explain to Chrom about the peculiar nature of the castle, and that's when she'd hatched her plan. The Feroxi were born brawlers and barbarians who had no need for stealth, Khan Flavia had bragged, but the eastern castle had an unusual feature that occasionally proved helpful: it echoed, she had said, like you wouldn't believe. Even Lon'qu, Khan Basilio had added - the swordsman would have bristled under the attention had he been nearby - couldn't sneak around in there. It had something to do with the stone used to build it. Neither of the khans had any idea what it was: apparently, the fortress had been around longer than Regna Ferox itself.

Thinking about that just made Lissa more angry at herself. Normally, she probably wouldn't have been able to hear her bodyguard sneaking around, but in the eastern castle-! There was a keyhole in the door that she'd planned on spying through and everything just like in all the adventure books Sumia had lent her! Pouting, Lissa sat up. He probably wasn't going to come back. She'd have to wait for some other opportunity.

Now too anxious to sleep, Lissa looked around. The darkness made it seem like the room had no ceiling, just walls that reached up into infinity. The room was cold, though not nearly as bad as it was outside. She peered out of the little window in the room and into the courtyard down below. There was so much snow, and it was incredibly deep already! It didn't snow all that often in Ylisse. Lissa would have liked to have played in it, but Khan Flavia had been clear about the dangers of the White Winds. Lissa shuddered to think of how it would be to live in a place like Regna Ferox, where most people weren't afraid of even the toughest fights but where a single storm could bring the entire nation to its knees.

Lissa was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she almost didn't hear the footsteps as they came back the second time. She froze as she listened, then bolted to the door. The steps were steady, but they were moving away from the door this time. The walker had already passed.

But, Lissa thought, if the walker was Lon'qu and if he'd passed twice, who was to say that he wouldn't pass again? Maybe he was pacing! If so, she still stood a chance to confirm that he was her "guardian angel". She giggled to herself. It was too much fun.

She waited by the keyhole, listening intently to the amplified footsteps. Whatever Chrom thought about her patience, when she put her mind to it, she could wait as long as she had to. She remembered all of the time she'd spent collecting frogs to prank Robin with, and boy had _that_ taken a long time! - but there were the footsteps again, coming closer now. She knelt and looked through the hole.

What she saw confirmed it: though she couldn't see the full body or even clear details because of the narrow hole and the lack of light, there was the red sash, held up by that strange metal sigil, tied over the blue robes of the Feroxi swordsman. The walker was Lon'qu all right. Her bodyguard was doing his nightly rounds.

Satisfied, the little cleric climbed back into her bed and pulled the covers around her shoulders. Her stake-out had been a success! As she began to doze back off, she wondered what she should do with the information that she'd gathered. Maybe she'd tell Chrom and show him that she wasn't as unobservant as he thought she was. Or maybe she'd tell Robin and force Lon'qu to fight closer to Lissa - maybe she could cure his fear of women! Lissa's allowed her mind to swim with possibilities that became less and less realistic until she entered the realm of dreams and slept soundly through the rest of the night.

* * *

Lissa's first thought upon waking the next morning was that she was a horrible person. Emmeryn had been captured by the enemy. She repeated that to herself, over and over again. She had been there when the khans had given Chrom the news last night, but…

She shut her eyes against the bright sunshine of the morning. It hadn't sunk in until that moment. While she'd been playing games and spying as if she were in a bad novel, her sister was rotting in some dungeon. Lissa's stomach turned, and she wanted to throw up. She hated herself for being so childish. There had probably been meetings last night to come up with rescue plans. Lissa could have made herself useful, or at least acted as if she knew what was going on. At the very least, she ought to have gone to see Chrom.

But she hadn't. She'd wanted to prove something silly, and she'd gotten her opportunity. All the while, Emmeryn was far, far away from any home either of them had ever known.

Lissa laid back down in bed and put a pillow over her face. She could hear voices outside her room - there were Sully and Stahl, and they were _laughing_ , probably putting on brave faces. She couldn't do that, not after the full weight of Emmeryn's fate had hit her. She pushed the pillow down further and curled into a ball.

* * *

Chrom was the one who came to get her.

"Lissa?" he called, a little loudly, as he knocked at the door. Lissa realized that she must have fallen back to sleep. "Are you in there?" She made a noise that was supposed to be a response, but even she didn't know what she'd said. The door opened and closed. Lissa peered up at her big brother.

"You haven't slept," she said softly.

"You don't look any better," he replied. "Are…you all right?" Lissa responded by curling herself into a tighter ball. Chrom sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her hair. "It will be fine," he said, his voice cracking at the end. "Everything will be all right."

Lissa's lip shook, and she lunged at her brother. All of the tears that she'd saved up over the last few hours since the truth had hit her spilled out in between hiccups. "I'm horrible," she said. Chrom spoke, but she wasn't listening. "They all said she was gone but I didn't really think about it so last night rather than pray for Emm I was playing and looking for my guardian angel and I was so proud when I found him but Emm is _gone_ and I didn't do anything and I-I-"

"Lissa," Chrom said, holding her still. "Take a deep breath." The little princess shook her head, and Chrom pulled her in for a crushing hug. "Everything will be all right," he repeated. Lissa realized he was trying to convince them both, and she hugged him back.

"I miss Emmeryn." Lissa's voice was pitiful.

"I do, too. We'll get her back."

"Do you promise?" Lissa's hiccups were subsiding.

"I promise."

Chrom was quiet for a little while.

"Lissa, I just want you to know… I-I was worried about you, and…"

Lissa looked up without letting go of her brother. "Chrom?"

"That's why I didn't tell you," Chrom said. "About Lon'qu."

"So I was right!" Lissa perked up for a moment, then slumped over, remembering that she had no business being happy about the discovery of her "guardian angel"'s identity.

Chrom let out a few sounds that sounded like a laugh. "How did you find out?"

Now that she was breathing normally, Lissa took the time to explain her night adventure to Chrom. She exaggerated a few things when she saw that Chrom was amused by it. In the end, though, she tried to apologize again, and Chrom cut her off.

"Lissa, stop. Listen to me." Lissa fell silent. "It's not a bad thing that you decided to play a little game last night. It's better than falling into despair."

"But Chrom-"

"No, Lissa. I mean it. Emm is going to be all right. Robin has a plan, and it's going to work. There's no reason to be sad, so smile, will you?"

Lissa thought for a moment, then grinned widely, if only to please her big brother. He was trying so hard. "If you say so! Emm, we're coming for you!"

"That's the spirit!"

A knock on the door fractured the moment: "Chrom, can I speak with you?" It was Robin's voice; the strategist sounded as spent as any of them.

"Just one second." Chrom looked from the door back to his sister. "Are you going to be all right?"

Lissa nodded, and Chrom stood, taking that as his signal to go. "Wait!"

Chrom turned back around. "Lissa?"

The little princess made a face. She was embarrassed to ask, but she felt she had to. "I know why you'd give me a bodyguard, but… Why him?"

"Huh?"

"Why Lon'qu?"

"Because," the lord answered with a smile, "he was just catching butterflies. He had nothing better to do."

"But why not Frederick?"

Chrom's face was such that Lissa immediately regretted the question. Chrom responded, though, before she could take it back.

"I wonder that myself, now that I've made the decision." The lord hesitated, and Lissa found that she couldn't fill the silence. "I may yet change my mind. After all, Lon'qu is Khan Basilio's man, not ours. For now, though, he's your bodyguard. You should talk to him at some point. He doesn't know that you know."

"Gotcha!" Lissa replied. Chrom was out the door seconds later. As soon as he was gone, Lissa slumped forward.

Emmeryn was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right. It was okay to play around and have just a bit of fun.

Even though she still felt odd about it, a true smile rose to Lissa's face. There was still plenty of hope-and fun-to be had. She figured that she didn't have a whole lot of time before the armies of Ylisse and Ferox began their march, but once they set up camp…! A camp was big, and with so many people, it would be more difficult than usual, but still. Lon'qu was her bodyguard. He'd have to stay somewhat close.

They were going to have a little chat, the swordsman and the princess. He would be her distraction. Lissa actually cackled at the thought. Oh, the fun she'd have!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this isn't my longest section, but it had to be finished up. It's been rotting on my hard drive since I finished Lon'qu's piece. I never put it up here because I was working at an arts camp that has no internet. Now that I'm home, I'll be updating regularly again (and with longer chapters-I know this one is a little short). Usual disclaimers apply. Please enjoy!


	5. Buoyancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chrom experiences an unusual lightness of being.

The march from Regna Ferox to Plegia was uneventful. While the Plegian border patrol put up a decent fight, the Shepherds often went several days without encountering even a small contingent of the Plegian army. The little resistance they did meet was paltry and proved no match for them. Robin hypothesized that perhaps King Gangrel had begun marshaling peasants. Chrom thought that it was unlikely, but he did find it odd that they hadn't faced so much as a challenge upon crossing the border.

Travel within the country, however, was brutal. Plegia's borders encompassed a large, arid peninsula. Though some areas were pleasant enough, with flat plains and tall grasses that extended for miles on end following clear rivers and streams, most of the land was covered with vast deserts. The Plegian sands were fine and thick. The horses found it difficult to even walk, and that impeded all forward progress. Men on foot had an easier time of it, but even they could not move fast. Those who could call upon magic to guide their path could do so, but they faced a simple dilemma: they could not go forward without the group. It didn't make sense to put a distance between them and the rest of the army that could prove dangerous.

The army's slow movement meant a dwindling lack of supplies, to say nothing of morale. Food stores were rationed and rationed again. Water proved an even bigger problem. There were countless deep arroyos and dry spring beds that tempted the soldiers, but there was not a drop of water to be found.

To make matters worse, it was hot, and swelteringly so. With no shade and no water and no quick way to move forward, the rays of the sun felt like daggers in the air.

The combination of everything - weather, no combat, little food or water, and troop dissatisfaction - had Robin at wit's end.

"I don't understand," the strategist seethed, holding a map against the sun as if to block it. "How come this hellhole exists side by side with an oasis? Ylisse is not like this; conditions should be exactly the same. This doesn't make sense!"

Chrom sighed. "Robin, you've been saying the same thing over and over again for days now. You're starting to sound like Lissa. Khan Basilio told us that it's the dry season. It's supposed to be like this."

"He also said that it's always the dry season down here," Robin muttered, "except for about two weeks when the country is absolutely flooded."

"It's a different place," Chrom reminded the despondent strategist. "It's not Ylisse. You can't expect it to be the same, even if they are close by."

"I know, I know." Robin blew at a strand of hair. It was a still day, so hot that the air crackled with heat. "But if I stop thinking about the weather, I'll start thinking about everything else. We're nearly out of water, you know. And food. And energy." Robin's head sunk to lean on the neck of the strategist's exhausted horse. "We've lost four horses, two men from overheating, one to insanity-"

"Vaike isn't mad, he's just stir crazy. I think everyone's starting to feel trapped in this desert."

"Or maybe he's just stirrup crazy. Most of his delusions center around horses being infernal beasts."

Chrom smiled. "Look on the bright side, Robin. We're still making better progress than you anticipated. We'll be at the capital soon."

"To be honest, that's no accomplishment. I hadn't put expectations for progress that high," Robin grumbled. Chrom goaded his horse to a slightly faster pace before the strategist could remind him of the harsh reality: if they reached the main body of the Plegian army without food or water, they'd be crushed in a matter of minutes. They needed some fresh supplies, and they needed them yesterday.

Though he was aware of all of his army's troubles, though, Chrom wasn't stressed by the situation. In fact, his mood was rather odd. He'd started out the long trek to retrieve Emmeryn with a heavy heart and with anger bubbling in his blood. The first few days he hadn't even felt like himself: he was furious at the Plegian King for being more monster than man, furious that a large army couldn't move as fast as he was used to with his small band of Shepherds, and furious at the world for daring take Emmeryn from him.

Somewhere along the path, though, he'd calmed down. The daily journey, ever moving forward, gave his body a different rhythm. His mind stopped racing. He had realized that the sun still felt good on his face, that the wind still breathed with the same tenderness. If he had to describe it, Chrom would say that he just had this feeling in his chest as if everything were fated to come out all right.

Robin had pointed out all of the risks of the campaign early on: the army was vulnerable and would continue to be vulnerable until they hit a string of towns close to the capital. Hopefully, they could find some succor there. Khan Basilio had warned Chrom that the people might need to be strong-armed to offer any kind of aid, but Chrom refused to believe that it would come to that. All-most-people were good deep down inside. They would offer their assistance.

Overall, Chrom felt optimistic. No, it went beyond that. He felt buoyant. Light. Robin had laid out a plan to rescue Emmeryn, and Chrom had faith that it was going to work. He trusted his Shepherds to do their job. It was that simple.

When he had described how he felt to Lissa, she had told him to come closer so that she could check him out for heat exhaustion. She said that she didn't want to have to deal with another raving lunatic like Vaike.

Chrom didn't think his happiness had anything to do with the heat, though. He just felt good about what he was doing. Finally, he was going to be able to do something for Emmeryn, something for her and her alone. He was going to save her, and they were going to go home together. Everything was going to be all right. He just had a feeling.

* * *

Nighttime on the Plegian sands was a different beast than daylight. When the sun went down, the air grew frigid, to the point that several Feroxi warriors claimed that, if one substituted snow for sand, it felt just like home. Out in the desert, the sky was so clear that Chrom could see stars in familiar constellations that he'd never seen before. When they'd first started out, he hadn't noticed, but now, he found himself fixated upon them. They were shining down on him. They would show him the true path.

Chrom's army set up camp in the shade of one of the many great skeletons that dotted the desert. The purpose of such a set-up was twofold: first, the sand there wasn't so hot when setting up, and two, it wouldn't become as hot as fast when the sun rose. It struck everyone as a winning arrangement, and so it was settled on almost without discussion.

That night, as they set up camp, they were fortunate enough to find several dead trees not far from their skeleton encampment. They harvested enough wood for the night and some extra for the future with gratitude; finding firewood in the desert had proved difficult.

As Chrom ate his tiny ration of food - the desert also wasn't the ideal place for catching game - he considered his newfound optimism and clarity. He had a vision of what was going to happen, and he felt absolutely sure that it was going to come true. He'd always had faith in his Shepherds, but as they traversed the Plegian desert, he'd found himself more trusting of his soldiers than even he was wont to do. Together, they could accomplish anything. The words "indestructible" and "unbeatable" came to mind, though he did the best to shake them away. Accumulating ego was the last thing he needed to be doing.

Chrom's gaze fell on Lon'qu and Lissa. Ever since his conversation with her in Ferox, she'd tried her best to get up close and personal with her bodyguard, with humorous results. She had publicly declared that she would "cure" his fear of women: Chrom supposed that she meant to do it by sheer force of will. Frankly, he didn't put it past her to succeed.

Lon'qu, for his part, was entirely uncomfortable with the situation, though he appeared to have accepted his role for the moment. After the swordsman's first real conversation with Lissa, Lon'qu had pulled Chrom aside. Chrom had presupposed that he was going to be asked to find a different bodyguard again, but what he got was a surprise:

"You told her I was chasing butterflies?!"

Chrom could only blink. "Huh?"

"Your sister. You told her that you picked me because I had nothing better to do. She mentioned…butterflies."

The pieces assembled in Chrom's mind. "Oh, yeah, that. I didn't think she'd remember, honestly. It was just a joke. Funny, right?" Lon'qu wasn't laughing. "Right. Not funny. I'm sorry."

Lon'qu's face had flushed a deep crimson, and his eyes were shifty. "Then you didn't- Never mind. Forget it." He had stalked off without a word, though Chrom had tried to call him back. The lord did wonder about that. What was Lon'qu's issue with the butterflies, of all things?

Chrom watched, that night in the desert, as Lissa tried to slide closer to her bodyguard, only to have the swordsman get up and move to the other side of the fire.

"Hey!" the little princess called, pouting. Lon'qu sat down in his new spot and continued eating. Llissa made a face, then tried to sneak around the fire to join him. Chrom had to smile: it was a routine that happened nearly every night now. The only one who didn't seem even a little amused by it (other than Lon'qu, of course) was Frederick.

Frederick. Chrom looked into the fire. Though he was ashamed of the logic he'd gone through to pick someone to defend Lissa, Chrom had to admit, he was happy with the results. Enemies couldn't even get close to Lissa: Lon'qu was quick and seemed to be ever-present when it came to the petite cleric. Lissa had yet to come back from battle with so much as a scratch that didn't come from her own clumsiness. Even those kinds of accidents had become rarer, though, and Chrom suspected Lon'qu's involvement.

The only kink was Frederick. Though Chrom had no proof, he suspected that the observant knight had figured out what had happened. Chrom wanted to talk to him, but he had no idea how to approach the man without upsetting him further. He knew for a fact that Frederick was upset, too: the knight had been acting erratically, working even harder than usual but speaking to nearly no one. Even Sully, who usually didn't notice those kinds of things, made a remark in passing that Frederick didn't train with the rest of the Shepherds anymore.

"It's like," she said, breathing deeply as she hoisted supplies back on her horse one morning, "he's almost not a Shepherd, you know? I never seem him. It's a damn nuisance; I want to train, and he's not there! How the hell am I supposed to get stronger if one of the strongest people on this team won't train?!"

Chrom had to agree. Something was up, and he wanted to figure it out before they reached the capital. It wouldn't do any good to have his second in command at a distance from the rest of the group at the critical moment. As the flames danced before his eyes - Frederick's fire was a true roarer that night, putting off so much heat that Chrom's neck was as sweaty as during daylight - he decided that the knight needed to be spoken to. He'd ask Robin how exactly to approach the situation. Diplomacy - using the word with regards to Frederick put a bad taste in Chrom's mouth, but he could find no better expression for what he had to use - had never been his strong suit.

* * *

"You haven't thought about it _at all_?!"

"Of course not! Why would I?"

"Because, you're a lady of high standing! What if someone began forming suppositions? I only speak of this now because I worry about you, you know. Men can be such boors - it's really best to keep them at a distance."

"You worry too much! I'm fine!"

"Lissa!"

Chrom peeked out of his tent to see what the commotion was about. Maribelle stood in front of Lissa and was speaking emphatically, waving her arms wildly.

"Maribelle, please! I _like_ them!"

"Oh, you cannot meant that! For a lady to have feelings for more than one man-the impropriety-"

"No no NO! Not like that! They're my friends! Lon'qu and Frederick are-"

"Men, my dear, and men of a certain type cannot be trusted to be alone with a lady. Their ideas of 'friendship' with a woman are entirely unsavory."

Lissa folded her arms. "You can't be serious! You do realize that one of the guys we're talking about is _Frederick_ , right? He has the most integrity of anyone I know!"

"You're a royal, and you're a beautiful girl. That's enough to break any man. I just want you to stay safe." Maribelle nodded to herself. Chrom had to smile. She was uptight, but she truly worried for Lissa. Often, it seemed as if there was nothing more important in Maribelle's world than his little sister.

"And what's the issue with Lon'qu, huh? He's my bodyguard - if Chrom says he's safe, it's fine!"

"He's a foreigner! And he's young. His, what is it again?, _gynophobia_ , it's all a trap! Please, darling, you must stay away. You're better than him."

Lissa sighed. "There's no winning with you, is there, Maribelle? Look, I know you're just looking out for me, but… Really, it's going to be all right. I promise."

"But-!"

"Maribelle, please!" Lissa held both of Maribelle's hands in hers. "Maribelle…"

Maribelle hugged Lissa. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry. I just worry for you so much… If anything were to happen to you, I, I…"

Lissa pulled away from the hug and smiled. Even in the dark, anyone could tell that she was beaming. "Nothing's going to happen. Not to either of us."

"You're right, of course," Maribelle said, pulling away as well. "It's this journey that has me in such a tizzy. Not enough water for a bath, or even for a civilized cup of tea-! But oh, Lissa, darling, it's going to be fine. We're going to bring the Exalt back, and we'll all have a cup of tea together. Doesn't that sound lovely?"

Lissa nodded a little too energetically. Maribelle could tell that she'd struck a nerve, and she snagged one of her friend's hands. "I know; we might not be able to get as clean as one would like, but that doesn't mean we can't be comfortable. Come on: I've been practicing some muscle relaxation techniques." Maribelle began pulling Lissa along, and the good-natured cleric followed without complaint as Maribelle continued, "Have you ever had a massage?"

Chrom's eye was pulled away from the pair as they headed toward Maribelle's tent: there was movement elsewhere. The lord squinted against the darkness, but he could make out nothing in particular until the source of the movement came into the light. Lon'qu spared him only a single glance before moving from the shadow of a tent to follow the pair of women. He soon melted seamlessly back into the darkness.

Before Chrom could shut his tent flaps for the evening, something else caught his eye. It wasn't so much the movement as the glint of light. Because of the reflection, Chrom could clearly make out the form of Frederick approaching. He, too, Chrom thought, must have been hiding in the shadows. Apparently, it was a busy night for eavesdropping on young ladies.

"My lord." Frederick's bow was stiff and formal. Chrom was instantly alert. Frederick's body was rigid, his muscles visibly taught under his armor. Even his voice sounded strained. "May I have a word?"

"Of course. Come on in," Chrom said, lifting the flaps to the tent and stepping back a pace. Frederick shut his eyes, took a breath, and stepped inside. Chrom drew the flaps behind him. All at once, he had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, back at Chrom's point of view. Just as the game has a little temporal shift between chapters 7 and 8, there is one here; this scene is meant to take place shortly before the army comes across Nowi and Gregor. I had a good time with Maribelle's scene and Vaike's cameo; maybe a little too much fun, come to think of it.
> 
> At any rate, usual disclaimers apply: I do not own Fire Emblem, though I sorely wish that I did. This story, on the other hand, belongs to me. Do not steal. Yadda yadda yadda. Reviews are always welcome; I hope you've enjoyed!


	6. Divulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Chrom and Frederick are thoroughly uncomfortable, yet manage to get everything (and then some) out on the table.

It was, Frederick thought, the best time to have this conversation. Chrom had been in a good mood for days now. Robin had told him that it was because Chrom was so focused on a single goal, and that he had plans to achieve that goal, that it was as if the hardships bedeviling the army were nonexistent.

To be honest, Frederick wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought. Chrom's father had once had the same mentality. His single-minded determination to wipe out the Grimleal had led to a war that nearly destroyed both Plegia and Ylisse.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. Frederick worked to lengthen his spine; standing tall and upright was proving difficult. His shoulders wanted to slump forward, and he had the undeniable urge to hand his head, to run a hand through his hair, or to cradle his elbows in front of him. His knees wanted to bend and cross, and his eyes wanted to rest anywhere but on Chrom.

He could not do any of those things, though. He was above this, or so he told himself again and again as he forced his head to remain level. He would not allow Chrom to see his hands behind his back, the one gripping the other so hard that he was beginning to lose sensation in his fingertips. He would demonstrate through body language alone that the matter about which he was about to speak, though important, was not so troubling as to deeply effect the knight.

Frederick was reasonable, though: Chrom's startled expression alone told him that he wasn't doing nearly as good of a job of coming off as cool and collected as he had hoped.

"My lord," Frederick began, clearing his voice, "there is something I wish to speak with you about."

Chrom nodded. "I gathered so much. What has been bothering you? You've been acting strange as of late. Are you feeling well?"

Frederick's eyes lowered automatically, though he soon corrected his gaze, damning himself several times over. "I admit, I do feel uneasy, though I was unaware that I had been acting strangely."

Chrom's shoulders relaxed, and the young lord breathed audibly. "Frederick, you've been at a distance for several days now. Sully has been trying to get you to train with her, but she can't seem to get through to you. No one really can. What's been going on?"

The knight kept himself firmly in check, standing stock-still as he spoke. "'Tis true that I have, as you say, distanced myself from my fellow Shepherds. I have had…much thinking to do." A sigh escaped his lips that he could not retract. "Milord, might I pose a personal question?"

"Of course, Frederick."

"Do you distrust me?"

"What?!"

Frederick found himself gnawing on his bottom lip. "If my lord will pardon me for mentioning something about which he has avoided speaking, you assigned Lady Lissa a personal guard and asked nothing of me. I must ask: do you not trust me to do my duty?"

"Frederick, of course I trust you! You're the most dependable Shepherd we have!"

"Then why, sire," Frederick said, his voice shaking, "why did you not ask if I would defend milady? Why did you ask him?"

Chrom's eyes were apologetic yet shifty. Frederick felt that he already knew the answer to his question, and his heart was the heavier for it. "Frederick, I didn't ask you because you already have too many responsibilities. Burdening you with more seemed unreasonable."

"Does milord think me incapable of the jobs I have taken on?"

"No, not at all! It's just that I wanted you to have at least a little time for yourself. You know, to relax."

"Milord, if I may recall, I was asked to join the Shepherds that I might look after milord and milady. That, above all, is my charge."

"Frederick, I…"

The knight couldn't stop himself. "If I am unable to serve those to whom I am dedicated, I have no purpose. If I am unfit to serve Lady Lissa as a human shield, then I have no reason. Milord, I beg of you, tell me the truth: do you truly find me unfit for this duty? Are my services no longer desired?"

"No, Frederick. It's not that at all."

Frederick was quiet for a long time. "I have no desire to question your judgment, sire."

Chrom sat down on his makeshift cot. He fidgeted, his muscles twitching under the strain of deep thought. Frederick wondered what all was going through his mind. He would have given anything to know.

"Frederick, before I say anything else," Chrom said slowly, "I have a question to ask."

"Of course, sire."

"If, in the course of a battle, I were to be disarmed and badly injured, and Lissa was to become separated from the group, both of us would likely be killed, correct?"

The knight didn't like where this was going. "That is correct."

"Let's say that you're there when this happens. Our enemies are closing in. Answer me honestly: who do you save?"

Frederick opened his mouth to answer, then immediately snapped his jaws together, his teeth clicking. For the first time in the course of the conversation, he didn't have to fight to keep his body still: it remained frozen in place of its own accord as his mind processed the scenario with which he had been presented.

"I would," the knight said, dragging out the words, "as a knight of the realm, save the heir to the halidom."

"That's exactly the-"

"But," Frederick continued, speaking softer than before, "I would like to think that, for a moment, I would act selfishly."

"Frederick?"

The knight shook his head. His hands were shaking again. "Forgive me, sire. I have said too much. I understand the purpose of your scenario, but I find it ill crafted. In no event would such an event transpire."

"Don't be ridiculous, Frederick. On the battlefield, anything can happen. We've seen it many times over."

"The unpredictability of the battlefield is indeed one thing. However, you must understand, and I will repeat: my charge is to protect milord and milady. If you were separated from Lady Lissa and injured, as you say, I would be unable to save either of you. I would have fallen long before such a thing could happen, and I would have done so knowing that I would be preventing such a scenario, buying you time such that you might regroup with the rest of the Shepherds. Neither you nor Lady Lissa shall fall on the battlefield while I draw breath."

"Frederick…"

Chrom grasped for words he could not appear to find. Frederick's body continued to stay still by itself. He sensed that now was the time to leave, but he found that he couldn't. His armor weighed his shoulders down and kept his feet from moving. His hands unclasped, too, allowing the blood to flow freely again. He breathed out through his mouth, the exhale loud in the silent tent.

"You're right, Frederick."

The knight blinked once, then again, and again. Those had been the words that, deep down, he had wanted to hear, but to hear them spoken in such a tone left him feeling hollow. It wasn't just a sad sound: Chrom sounded dejected. The words slapped Frederick across the face. He thought of the past few days, how Chrom's mind had been so clear and sharp that he had been nearly ethereal in his bearing. Frederick saw him now, slumped over on his cot, his head held in the tight vice of his own hands. He, Frederick, had done this. With his impertinence, he had crafted this scene. Putting the late king's behavior aside, Frederick's mind told him: he had hurt his lord. This was his fault.

"You're right."

Chrom's words slapped Frederick across the other cheek. Frederick unthinkingly reached up to touch his face to check that he wasn't bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Frederick." Chrom was looking up at him now. "I just… I suppose there's no shame in admitting it. I was afraid. I was afraid for Lissa. When she began traveling with us as a Shepherd, I was terrified. She was so proud to come out with us that I couldn't say no, but, to see her on the battlefield alongside you and I… That's when I began to think about it."

"Assigning a guard to just milady?"

"Correct. When the Plegian bandits attacked Southtown and we fought them off, of the four of us, Lissa was their primary target. Though you and I, and Robin, too, managed to keep them off of her, it wasn't easygoing. They saw her as the weak link. Then, there were the Risen, and Regna Ferox…"

"Ferox?" Frederick questioned. If the Feroxi warriors had done _anything_ to harm Lissa, he thought, they had better start praying.

"Do you remember what Raimi said?" Chrom said, oblivious to Frederick's sudden fury. "There had been many Plegians masquerading as Ylisseans trying to cross the border and cause trouble. I asked Flavia while we were there, and she said that there were many Plegians on the Northroad who occasionally attacked the wall. In fact, she was surprised that none of them had ambushed us on the way up. Had it not been for the upcoming tournament, she would have crossed the border and dealt with them 'the Feroxi way', as she put it, but as it was, her hands were tied."

"So you knew about the assassins ahead of time."

Chrom shook his head. "No. According to Lon'qu, those weren't assassins. He said that they were probably just brigands who were looking to raid. They likely didn't know who they were attacking."

"I find that difficult to believe."

The lord shrugged. "That's just what Lon'qu said. At any rate, that was our first night back on the road. I had decided before we set up camp that I wanted to give Lissa a bodyguard, and I wanted to deal with it that night. I spent a long time thinking about what I was going to do."

"You waited until most of the Shepherds had gone to rest," Frederick recalled. "That's when you came out and asked if I knew where Lon'qu had gone."

"That's right. You looked so happy with your fire, and then when I approached… Your demeanor changed." Chrom's own face contorted. "I'm sorry. That's not important. I apologize."

"There is no need. It is I who should apologize. I in no way wished to convey anything but gladness upon seeing you safe and well."

"No, I do need to apologize. I had just thought that your response to the scenario I put forth a few minutes ago would be different. I hadn't thought it through well enough. If I had, I would have seen that you were the obvious choice. After all, it is your job already, and you perform it superbly."

Frederick had to ask, though he didn't want to. "Milord, what answer had you been expecting?"

Chrom took in a breath. "I had thought that you would have stopped after your first response. That you would have saved me and let Lissa," he said, pausing, "go."

The knight shook his head. "I couldn't do that."

"Frederick, what you said earlier, about acting selfishly-"

Frederick knew that it was against decorum, but he cut his lord off. "Why keep it a secret?"

"Huh?"

"Lon'qu's assignment. Knowledge of it would hurt," Frederick said, "no one."

"Can you really say that it was a harmless decision?" Chrom asked softly. Frederick gave no response. "My primary reason for saying nothing was simple: I didn't want Lissa to worry, or to think that she was causing any kind of problem. I wanted to protect her.

"Still, I should have said something to you. I see that I've hurt you."

"Milord, I can assure you-"

"Frederick." The knight fell silent. "You don't have to lie to me. I can tell. And I apologize from the bottom of my heart. I was so afraid for my sister that I acted rashly on her behalf. I had thought that I'd gone through all of the possibilities, but in reality, I'd only blinded myself. Can you forgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, milord," Frederick said, his mouth dry. "You acted for the benefit of Lady Lissa. For that, I should be eternally grateful." He looked off to the side. "I apologize once again, for taking up what might have otherwise been a pleasurable evening for milord. I'll see that it doesn't happen again."

The knight turned to make a speedy retreat.

"Wait!"

Frederick stopped. He felt sick, and he was dreading what else might be coming.

"About what you said earlier, about acting selfishly. You never let me finish asking just what you meant."

"Forgive me, milord," Frederick spoke without turning around. "I ask in all earnestness that you don't."

"Frederick?"

"Please." Frederick received no response. He turned his head enough to see Chrom out of the corner of one eye. "Good evening, my lord. Pray, sleep well."

"Good night, Frederick."

Chrom seemed to want to say something other than that, but Frederick walked outside. Movement made him feel dizzy; he retreated to his own tent and cot and lay down, still fully armed.

What had he done? What had he _done_? He put his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with sand-encrusted gloves. He just had to open his mouth and come out with all of that.

At least, he thought bitterly, he had his answers. Chrom had only wanted to protect Lady Lissa. It was nothing personal. That, at least, was a relief. If he had to say how he felt about the conversation on the whole, though, he would have been at a loss as to how to answer. He felt happy that he was still trusted. He was sad that his lord had been in such a predicament as he had been in and hadn't thought to turn to an outside opinion. Frederick was conflicted, upset, nauseous, relieved, and much, much more. He realized, as he tried to sum it all up, that it only amounted to one thing.

Frederick felt vulnerable.

He let his arms drop to rest by his side and blinked at the canvas of the tent. Vulnerable. It was hilarious. Absolutely, sidesplittingly hilarious. The knight rolled onto his side and sat up, running a hand through hair. In the middle of doing so, he registered that he was making a mess of his hair. He was going to look ridiculous until they found some more fresh water.

He gripped his face in frustration. He thought of maybe doing another rounds on the camp - there was no way he was going to be able to sleep now - but sound outside stopped him.

"Yes, my arms feel a million times better! Thanks so much, Maribelle!"

Frederick's stomach dropped. It was Lady Lissa, and she sounded delighted.

"Not a problem, dear. I'll be sure to improve my technique for next time." Maribelle sounded quite happy herself. "For now, Lissa, my treasure, you should sleep. You of all people need your rest. I won't have you getting hurt because you haven't slept properly!"

"Oh, Maribelle. You worry too much. Say, you never gave me a chance to give you a massage!"

"Don't worry, my darling, my shoulders are as light as a feather."

"But Maribelle-"

"Don't 'but' me, my darling; I only wish to take care of you. Be a dear and get some sleep; I'll feel horrible if you stay up on my account."

"All right, but you have to promise me that you'll let me help you to relax, too!"

"Good night, my dear!" Maribelle's tone was firm but was masked by enough jubilance to pass.

"Good night, then," Lissa said. "See you in the morning."

The pair of noblewomen walked their separate ways. Frederick could see Lady Lissa's cheery smile in his head. She was so sunny and radiant; it was no wonder that everyone, even Maribelle, couldn't help but want to keep her safe.

Frederick adjusted his armor and checked the edge of his sword. Lon'qu would be doing rounds that night, no doubt. Frederick resolved that he might as well do the same.

* * *

Frederick paced the perimeter of the camp with such single-minded determination that he was genuinely surprised when the sun rose.

"Oh, good morning, Frederick." Robin said. The strategist stretched in the light of the dawn. "I haven't seen you out this early for a while. Feeling better?"

"Beg pardon?" Frederick asked.

"Oh! I just assumed that you hadn't been feeling well. You've been a little distant, so I wondered if the heat hadn't gotten to you. I talked to Lissa and she said that she was going to come take a look at you. She's been worried sick."

Frederick pursed his lips. "Then I owe both you and milady a thousand apologies. I never meant to worry anyone." The thought of Lissa concerned for his well-being possessed his thoughts.

"Well, you'll know why she's there if she drops by to see you today." The strategist leaned down, stretching calf muscles. "Oof. All this riding really takes a toll, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Frederick responded, though he was hardly paying attention. "It does."

* * *

Frederick was fixing his horse. That was all he was doing. Saddle pad, saddle, bridle - all went on one by one, the buckles assembling themselves under his hands. He was most certainly _not_ waiting for a bouncy cleric to run up, demanding why he had been acting oddly.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him spin around, eager to see who it was. He had to admit, he was mildly disappointed to see that it was Chrom.

The look on the young lord's face changed immediately upon seeing his knight. "Good Gods, Frederick! What did you do?"

"Milord?"

"Your face! Your…entirety! I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you're a mess."

Frederick ran a hand through his hair to find that it was sticking up in odd places. He supposed he did look a bit rough. "My apologies, sire. I shall repair my appearances on the double."

Chrom shook his head with disapproval. "Appearances aren't exactly the problem here; you look exhausted. Answer me honestly: did you sleep last night?"

The lord's attention to such personal details rather embarrassed the knight. "No, sire," he said, shifting his weight. "I did rounds on the camp."

"Until all hours?" Chrom swore. "Frederick, while I appreciate all that you do, you _need_ to back off on a few things. You'll do neither my sister nor I any good if you walk around half dead from sleep deprivation." Frederick tilted his head. He was tired, and he didn't understand exactly what Chrom was saying. The lord rubbed his head.

"I meant to tell you," Chrom continued, "that I intend to absolve Lon'qu of his responsibilities pertaining to Lissa. You'll be acting as Lissa's sole personal guardian." Frederick opened his mouth to speak, but Chrom wasn't done. "I told Lon'qu that he was on duty until someone else strikes, or until we return to Ylisstol with Emmeryn, as he'll be returning to Ferox in the latter event."

"Milord, I," Frederick tried, his brain muddling through appropriate word choices, "thank you. This is a great honor. I shall defend her with pride!"

Chrom smiled. "You'll defend her with a well-rested body is what you'll do. Pull yourself together, friend; it's time to march."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little longer than the past few chapters. I've checked this over again for rogue grammatical errors, but I wanted to get it out here so that we can move on from the sad stuff, so there might (still) be things I haven't caught. As usual, review and feedback are requested. Usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!


	7. Antilogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lon'qu needs a distraction.

The subsequent day's march through Plegia was just as painful as any other that Chrom's army had experienced while on the long trek south. Just as any other day, too, Lon'qu was miserable. Absolutely, undeniably, miserable.

There were many reasons for which the swordsman was irritable. First, of course, there was the heat. The temperature was a problem that the Feroxi warriors faced with equal disdain. They were northern fighters, one and all: they battled in the frigid cold and in the snow. They faced hypothermia and frostbite without fear. They could go for months at a time without so much as a steaming cup of tea, to say nothing of hot food. After adjusting to such a harsh climate, there was no going back. Even Ylisse felt warm to Lon'qu; the Plegian sands felt like hellfire.

Then, there was his charge. Lissa had made it her mission to "cure" him of his "fear" of women by trying to get as close to him as possible. He scoffed at her and kept her at arm's length; he'd be rid of her as soon as Frederick took his place. Lon'qu didn't think that moment could come soon enough.

Last, there was the reason for the march. Lon'qu had never seen the Exalt before, much to the chagrin and disbelief of Chrom's little sister. She found it believable enough that he had missed the Exalt while defending against assassins in Ylisstol, but she couldn't fathom that he hadn't seen her while escorting her to the East Palace. To make up for what Lissa considered to be a gaping hole in his life, she talked about her sister the Exalt incessantly. For all that Lon'qu claimed that he hadn't been listening, he thought that the Exalt sounded like a kind woman, someone worthy of being saved.

Lon'qu scanned the flat desert landscape while the army slogged through the sands. There were no bugs or trees or even any signs of life to distract him from his own thoughts. He shut his eyes against the bright sun and the world around him. He needed a distraction; it didn't matter if it came in the form of a grassy plain or a battle against a Plegian contingent. He needed to escape from his head, and at that point, he'd be willing to accept nearly anything.

In his mind, the Exalt was an older version of Ke'ri.

* * *

"Can you believe it? He's been acting like such a jerk, and he can't even offer an explanation when I ask him how he is! Seriously, he's such a thickhead sometimes!" There was a pause in the tirade. "Hey, are you even listening?"

Lon'qu grunted in response. He'd conditioned Lissa to learn that meant yes.

"Good, because if you weren't, I was going to have to start all over again. Yeesh, but honestly! I wonder what's got _his_ britches in a bind." Lissa let out a long, heavy sigh. "Now that I think about it, though, Frederick's not the only one. You've been acting weird lately, too."

Lon'qu couldn't stop a grimace from forming on his face. "I have done no such thing."

"Yes, you have!" Lissa declared. She looked, Lon'qu thought, awfully proud of herself. "You know, since you've been guarding me and all that, I've been watching you. Robin told me that the best way to help a person is to get to know them really well so that you can see where the problem comes from!" Lissa was beaming from ear to ear. Lon'qu, assured that there was no way she could effectively delve into his past, regarded her evenly.

"You've been stalking me?"

Lissa's eyes went wide. "No! No no no no _no_! Not stalking! Uh, what does Miriel usually say? I've been, um, observing you. Right."

Lon'qu gave no response. She was goading him, and he had no intention of biting.

"Aww, you're not even going to ask what I came up with?" Lissa whined. She pursed her lips in a pout. "Fine, then I won't tell you all the good stuff I've dished up on you. I'll just have to tell Chrom and Robin and the entirety of camp and you'll find out what I know through them!"

Lon'qu's right eye was twitching, through from exasperation or exhaustion, he wasn't quite sure. "Fine."

Lissa slouched in her saddle. "Fine? _Fine_?! I'm going to tell your, um, darkest secrets, and all you can say is _fine_?"

"You don't know a thing about me."

"Oh yeah? I know loads about you!"

There was only one way to get her to shut up. "Try me."

"Fine, I will! We'll start with the basics." Lissa nodded to herself. Her smile was demoniac. "Your name is Lon'qu. You're a swordsman from Regna Ferox. See, everyone knows at least a _little bit_ about you."

"Wrong."

"See, even you- WHAT?!" Lissa's jaw was hanging wide open, and her vocalization of disbelief had drawn the attention of some nearby riders. Lon'qu looked on with a tight jaw; he could hear someone stifling laughter, likely at his expense. "Wait, you've got to explain that one. Are you saying that you lied?"

"No."

"Then what? I mean, your name _is_ Lon'qu. That wasn't, like, a joke or anything, right?"

"Why would my name be a joke?" Lon'qu's words came out harsher than he'd intended.

"Er, right, sorry. I didn't mean it." Lissa sagged in her saddle, her spine bending until she was very nearly laying down. She looked everywhere except at him.

Lon'qu shook his head. _Women_. "It was the place."

"What?" Lissa twisted her head so that she could see him out of one eye. Her visible eyebrow was raised; she hadn't been expecting him to speak.

"The place."

Lissa bit her lip in concentration and sat back up. "Oh! You mean, you're not from Regna Ferox?" Her brows lowered and knitted together, meeting in the middle. "Then, wait a minute. Are you from Plegia?"

"No."

"Oh. Then you're from Ylisse. What region does that accent come from, anyway?"

Lon'qu's shoulders sagged. He'd intended for her to stop moping, but now he rather wished that he hadn't given her anything to go on. "Not Ylisse."

Lissa thought about that long and hard for a while, so long that Lon'qu actually believed that she had taken the hint and dropped the conversation before he hurt her feelings again. He had, however, underestimated her: the princess was not one to be dissuaded.

"So, you're from the other continent." Her words were crisp and clear and spoken in a strange tone that drew Lon'qu's attention. She almost sounded royal. He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't sad, but she wasn't overjoyed by the news, either. In fact, she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. She was staring off into the distance without seeing anything.

"You're a long way from home," she said softly. "I don't think I could ever go so far by myself."

Lon'qu felt heat in his face that had nothing to do with the sun. He wanted to retreat from the conversation by riding ahead, but the formation had moved around them in the time that Lissa had conjured her response, and all of his openings were closed. He didn't want to stop talking altogether, either. He ran a hand through his hair. Life was vexing.

"Ferox is my home now," he said finally.

When Lissa spoke again, all of the regality had drained from her lips, replaced by an equally unusual timidity. "Do you think you'll ever go back?"

"Khan Basilio lent me to Chrom because Plegia attacked. When it's over, I'm leaving."

"That's not what I meant," Lissa corrected quickly. "Unless- Wait a minute. I meant the place you were born. On the other continent. I meant to ask if you thought you'd ever go back there."

Lon'qu's lips were a firm line, and he spoke through his teeth. "There is nothing left there."

He didn't have to look at Lissa to know that she was looking down again. "I'm sorry," she said finally. Lon'qu didn't reply. It wasn't her fault. She repeated, "I'm sorry."

The swordsman gave the Plegian sands a cursory glance. Still no distraction.

* * *

Two days later, Lon'qu's fervent prayers to whatever god there was were finally answered. He was scouting at the front of the army when he noticed: there was the smell of fire on the wind, and there were figures on the horizon. He moved away from the others without giving a word of explanation to get a better view of the scene before him.

He squinted against the sun. An armed man and a child were running from a group of others. They didn't appear to be common thugs, nor were they coordinated enough to be the Plegian army. Lon'qu wasn't quite sure what the classify them as.

The swordsman returned to the main body of the army immediately and reported his findings to Frederick. The knight, who seemed rather poorly rested, took the information stoically and went to find Chrom, who promptly issued the order to attack if necessary.

At last. Lon'qu's hand fell to his blade. Cutting things was a wonderful distraction.

* * *

As it happened, engagement with the enemy was necessary and left Lon'qu feeling refreshed. The army, too, was in luck: the battle with the Plegian Grimleal had brought the army to a trio of small villages that pumped water up from beneath the sands. Grateful that Chrom's forces had cleared out the oppressive sect, they kindly offered their hospitality for the evening. Though Chrom had initially insisted on continuing the march, considering how close they were to the capital, Khans Basilio and Flavia, to say nothing of popular support, won out.

Lon'qu had been privately relieved. At least in villages, even ones as small as those that the army had stumbled upon, there was some distraction to be found.

Lissa didn't seem to agree. In fact, after dinner, she decided that what she most wanted to do was to plaster herself to Lon'qu's side, his preferences be damned. To say the least, Lon'qu was unhappy with the arrangement, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he said nothing.

She, on the other hand, chattered on and on, using her healing staff as a walking stick. She strolled beside Lon'qu - or as close to him as he would allow her to go - while he paced the village. The sun was going down, but each time he suggested that she go do something more productive or entertaining, she simply made a face at him and carried on. She wasn't fazed by his lack of response. In fact, it seemed as if she'd stopped expecting them altogether and was carrying on her own dialogue by filling in the blanks for him.

The village that Chrom's army had settled in had only a single watchtower, and a rickety, old one at that. Regardless, Lon'qu climbed to get a better look at the surroundings. Lissa, much to his chagrin, followed him up.

"She's been teaching me all of the different ways to massage the muscles," she was saying, carrying on about some noblewoman with whom she was friends. "I'd like to try them on her, but she says that she doesn't need them. I don't know if that means that I'm not learning them well enough and that she's scared I'll hurt her or whether it's just Maribelle being Maribelle and not letting me do anything for her."

As Lon'qu suspected, there wasn't much to see from up in the watchtower. The two other villages stood in the distance, forming a nearly perfect triangle. There were a few villagers coming back to the village rather late, Lon'qu supposed, looking at the dark forms huddling together against the sand and the wind, but nothing out of the ordinary. He climbed back down, and once again, Lissa followed.

"But, the thing is, Miriel found out what we were doing, and now _she_ wants to know how to do all of it. She was saying something about physical contact as a means of reducing stress, or something like that. Honestly, though, I don't really care if she learns how to give massages; I just don't want her giving _me_ one. Don't get me wrong, I like Miriel! She's just a little…thorough, if you know what I mean. I'd be worried that I'd never be able to feel my back again, you know? At any rate, she's been after Maribelle for hours trying to get her to talk about the book that she's been using."

As they walked the streets, Lon'qu kept an eye on the buildings on either side. Any building, whether it be a shop or a home, could house any number of unsavory sorts. Hospitable villagers or no, they were still in Plegian territory. The little noble bouncing along at his side was still a moving target.

A few times, Lon'qu thought he saw movement, or a glint of light on metal, in the upper windows or near the rooftops, but after a moment of observation, it turned out to be nothing. They had been in the desert for too long; Lon'qu felt that he was seeing things. Even so, he steered himself and Lissa in a different direction every time he thought he saw something. Lissa was proving marginally more observant than he'd given her credit for, and he didn't want her spooked over nothing.

Lissa tripped over a little rock in the road, and her endless jabbering stopped for a moment while she regained her balance. Lon'qu eyed the small street on which they'd found themselves up and down. They were close to the outskirts of the village, from the looks of it. Most people had turned in for the night.

"The path's kinda bumpy here, Lon'qu. Should we hold hands?" The princess giggled.

"No."

Lon'qu had been finding it difficult to tune Lissa out, but now his brain did it of its own accord, silencing her retort. His eyes narrowed, flitting from rooftop to rooftop. The street had turned out into a tiny open courtyard. A window slammed and locked; Lon'qu noticed instantaneously that all of the other windows and doors had been similarly bolted from the inside. He cursed at himself, hoping that there was still time. There was movement on three sides, and a shifting sound from behind.

"Shhh!" he ordered, pressing Lissa to one side.

"That is SO rude! Gosh, I'm only trying to-"

"Get behind me! Quickly!" Lon'qu pulled the little princess back by the forearm, scraping her in the process. His ears were deaf to all but the bowstrings as they were pulled back and the daggers as they were drawn from their scabbards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another somewhat short chapter; my apologies. I needed to get to certain events, and my muses have been dragging their feet on getting there. This story is turning out to be a bit longer than I expected, though I do think that we'll be wrapped up fairly soon. As per usual, disclaimers apply. R&R with the knowledge that those are what make me write faster and better. For now, please enjoy!


	8. Misericorde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lissa sees things she wasn't ready for.

Assassins.

Lissa's mind raced and froze at the same time, stuck on that one curious word while analyzing its ramifications. Assassins. In the village. Lissa was nauseous before she could register the feeling. Had Chrom been betrayed?

Her eyes focused on the shape before her - when had her vision reduced to a tiny speck surrounded by darkness? - and all other thoughts stopped.

Lon'qu was injured. An arrow had pierced his right shoulder. It had lodged right next to the joint, sticking out halfway in either direction, the tip obscured by a clump of flesh. It was almost like one of those headbands that tricked people into thinking that one had an arrow through one's head. Except, this wasn't a trick. Blood dripped from the length of the shaft. This was real. Lissa felt the bile rising at the back of her throat.

The swordsman felt the area and dropped the injured arm, tucking it by his side. He was collected. Lissa's legs didn't feel steady.

"Stay close," he said. Lissa's pulse was in her ears. Lon'qu drew his sword with his left hand, fumbling with the grip. She was so focused on her bodyguard, on how it seemed to take him forever to pull the blade from the scabbard using the wrong hand, that she couldn't see the movement around them. When an assassin materialized, short-sword raised high, she didn't notice until the stroke had almost fallen.

Lon'qu, however, had eyes for both of them. He blocked the knife attack by hitting the assassin's arm with his own, changing the sword's trajectory. Then, with a twisting motion and an outward spin, he had the assailant on the ground and disarmed.

Lissa watched as Lon'qu stabbed him through the back several times. In, out. In, out. The Plegian attacker shrieked and then fell silent. Lon'qu gave the corpse a few extra blows for good measure.

"Hold this."

Lissa looked down at Lon'qu's bloody sword as her protector took up the assassin's weapon. It was a substantially shorter blade, cruder in cut and easier to handle than his own.

From start to finish, it all took mere moments to occur. To Lissa, it felt like an eternity.

"Stay close," Lon'qu repeated. Lissa nodded, numb. There was nothing else to do but follow.

* * *

"Please, please, I can explain everything, just spare me-"

" _Be silent_."

Lon'qu struck the last assassin through the chest. He choked as the blade was removed. The hands, clasped in prayer, only loosened their hold on one another as the body fell to the side, blood spilling into the dust. Lon'qu dropped the short-sword that he'd used throughout the skirmish. It's blade was stained, its edge dull.

The swordsman turned to Lissa. She had moved mechanically across the courtyard, following Lon'qu, staying back when he told her to. He had kept her close all throughout. She wanted to rib him for it, to ask him if she'd cured his fear of women, but she couldn't. Dirt and sweat and fear sealed her lips. This man couldn't fear anything. He didn't seem human.

"That's the last of them," he said, approaching her. Lissa took a step back, and Lon'qu stopped. His face was unreadable. "I'll take that back." He pointed at her arms, and she looked down. Oh. She extended the bloody sword in his direction. Since she was holding the hilt, he grabbed it by the blade. Lissa watched as he wiped the blood away with his sash, then sheathed it.

"Here," Lissa said quickly, trying not to look down at her stained apron, "hold still. Let me tend to your wounds."

Lon'qu pulled away. "I'm fine." She grabbed his arm, her face flaming with embarrassment. She'd been so terrified, so unprepared for the attack, that she had completely forgotten that she was carrying her healing staff. When she finished several verses of the incantation, a healing blue light stitching together most of his injuries, Lon'qu stepped away from her, putting more than the usual distance between them. "Are you hurt?"

"No. Thanks to you."

"Good," Lon'qu said. The sun was nearly set. "That's good."

"Lon'qu, you just-" Lissa started, stopping when she saw that the swordsman was watching her. She gulped. "You saved my life."

"I followed orders."

"But-"

"You should be safe now. I'll escort you to your room, just to be sure."

Neither of them moved. Lissa's feet were as heavy as lead blocks. Lon'qu didn't show signs of moving without her, but she couldn't. She swallowed again. This hadn't been anything like before.

Lon'qu closed his eyes. "You fear me."

Her cheeks grew redder. "No, I-" She shut her mouth. There was no denying it. "It's just that, I wasn't… No. I don't…" Lissa let out a very long, loud breath. She was shaking all over. "I wasn't ready," she said. "I wasn't expecting anyone to come out. I just thought that Chrom was being his usual overprotective self. I thought that it was a game. I wasn't ready. It wasn't like before." Lon'qu opened his mouth to speak, but Lissa had been silent for the battle's duration, and now she found that she couldn't stop talking. "You know, when the Shepherds go out to fight, I have to steel myself because, you know, people I care about are going to get hurt. They might even die. I don't want to see them that way. I have to prepare myself. Even if it's only a few moments. I've never not taken that time, and seeing you hurt, I just couldn't-" There were tears prickling her eyes. She hiccupped. "I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry that I didn't heal you. I'm sorry that I'm scared of you. I'm sorry that you had to kill all of those people because they wanted to kill me because I'm Emm and Chrom's little sister. You know, I don't even have the brand, I'm probably not even legitimate, so it's all for nothing, and I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ -"

"Be silent."

Lissa froze in place. Somehow, Lon'qu had crossed the distance between them without her noticing. He had a hand on her shoulder. A bloodstained, heavy hand. She looked up at her bodyguard.

"This is not your fault."

Lissa bit her lip. His tone brooked no argument.

"Can you walk?"

She hiccupped again. Lon'qu scooped her up, healing staff and all, and began to carry her back to her room.

* * *

"How dare you!"

Lissa stretched and yawned. If only she could get back to sleep… Phila sure knew how to put the new recruits in place. She snuggled against her blanket and smiled. She'd have to tell Emmeryn to tell the lady to ease up.

"My only _son_!"

"Murderers!"

The little princess's eyes shot wide open. That wasn't Phila's voice, nor was it anything Phila would (probably) say. In fact, she didn't think she knew who was talking. Phila had been captured when Ylisstol had fallen. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up and looked all around. Lon'qu had brought her back to her room in the village, though he was nowhere to be seen. She remembered setting off, but she must have fallen asleep before arriving. Her room was dark, with a reddish light dancing on the walls. That must have been hours ago.

"Now, hold on just a moment!"

Chrom's voice rang through the wood of the door. Lissa bit her lip, then threw back the covers. She started going straight for the door, then thought better of it and grabbed her staff first. It sounded bad out there. She'd be ready this time. Just in case.

She screwed all of her courage to the sticking-place and threw open the door.

The door promptly tossed her backwards as someone else slammed it shut.

"Ow!" Lissa yelled, falling back on her bum. She scrambled up and beat on the door. "Hey, let me out!"

"No, milady, it is far too dangerous."

"Frederick! Keep her in there! These men are out for blood!" Chrom's voice again.

"Yes, sire."

"Chrom, wait! Frederick! You let me out of this room right this instant! What's going on out there? Why are people yelling at my brother?"

"Please stay inside, milady. My liege orders it."

" _Frederick_!" Lissa beat against the door a few more times, but to no avail.

There were yells from outside, and not a few screams. On the other side of the door, there was a howl, followed by a loud thump.

"Next?" Frederick asked. Lissa shivered and clutched at her staff, wringing the smooth metal in her palms. Frederick was guarding the door, which was reassuring, but what on earth was happening? Were there more assassins?

Her eyes went to the window by her bed. There was an easy way to find out. She threw open the glass panels and looked at the streets down below.

What she saw made mer mouth run dry. The Shepherds were armed and ready, executing one of the strategies that Robin had devised early on for battles in populated areas. She caught a glimpse of Maribelle on her horse carrying an injured Vaike to safety. Directly below her window, there was a scuffle. Kellam appeared, lanced someone, and promptly vanished from her sight. Khans Flavia and Basilio were holding off one flooded street with a handful of Feroxi warriors, cutting down all who stood in their path. Chrom was at the forefront of all of this, Falchion gleaming in the scant light, as he felled man after woman after man, raw anger and hurt written on his face.

The light, Lissa saw, came from torches. The torches, in turn, were carried by villagers.

There were village men with swords. Some had bows. Others only had pitchforks. Women had magic tomes, or staves, or nothing but their bare fists. Lissa looked, horrified, and found a few older children in the fray, fighting as ferociously as their parents.

"Killers!" One of the villagers lunged at Chrom. However, he was no match for Lissa's lord-brother.

"Monsters!"

"My son, my _son_!"

"How dare you!" Maribelle shrieked over the fray. "You tried to kill my beloved, my treasure! I will never forgive you! Troglodytes and barbarians, one and all!"

People were crying. Screaming. Dying.

Lissa took a breath. She couldn't just stand there. Her brother was out there, in the middle of the battle. A lance grazed his arm, and he slid backwards, deflecting the rest of the slice. The bodies were starting to pile up.

She crossed the room again. "Frederick! Open this door! I don't care what my brother said; you need me!"

"Milady," Frederick grunted, "please forgive me, but I have my orders. It is not safe for you out here." There was another thump. "Please remain inside."

"I won't stand by as the people I love die! Frederick, for the love of all that is good and holy, let me out!"

"For the Gods' sakes, let her _out_!" Sully cried. Lissa paused. Why wasn't she outside, too? "We'll be slaughtered! We need healers!"

" _Frederick_!"

Sully screeched in pain, then sputtered, "To hell with you!" There was another thump, and another, and another.

"Sully!" Frederick threw open the door. "Milady."

Lissa raced past him, stepping over the bodies of several villagers. One of the men had served soup to all the soldiers. He had smiled sweetly and talked about how he wanted to own a bakery some day when the wars were all over and everyone could be at peace. Another one of them had been on guard at the tower. He had helped her climb the ladder, advising her not to look down when it came time to descend.

She passed over them all. They were dead enemies, one and all.

Past the brunt of the carnage that she supposed had been wrought primarily by Frederick, Sully was doubled over. Her red armor was smeared with blood, much of it her own.

"Hold still," Lissa ordered. The incantation passed her lips faster than it ever had before. Sully's flesh knitted itself back together, though as always the tears in her clothing remained. Lissa ran over the spell once more, just to be safe.

"Thank you kindly," the lady knight spoke, standing upright. She nodded at Frederick.

"Where are your horses?" Lissa questioned.

"Outside. Chrom had Frederick on guard duty since these bastards decided that it was your time to go. I decided to lend a hand since he was gonna get his ass handed to him without me. But guess what, little lady, the tables have turned: you're staying out here with us now. We need staves, and your girlfriend can only do so much."

"Right. Let's go!"

Sully started a mad dash toward the door. Lissa went to start running after her, but there was a push behind her legs, and suddenly Frederick was running for the both of them, carrying her in both arms. The princess was grateful that she'd decided to leave her oversized hoop skirt in her room.

"This way!" Sully shouted. Lissa saw her spin her lance through both hands as they pulled up to the horses. Two village boys were doing their best to cut through the thick ropes that tied them to the makeshift stables.

"The hell you touch my horse, chump!" One of the boys ran, but the other wasn't so lucky. He ended up impaled on her lance, muttering something Lissa didn't catch.

"Up here, milady."

Frederick hoisted her to the top of his horse, then mounted behind her. Sully had already kicked the body off of her lance and popped into her own saddle.

"We'll drop her off in the middle," Sully said. "Ain't that where Robin's plan usually puts her? Then you can come with me and clean house."

"Aye," Frederick affirmed. To Lissa, he said, "Hold on."

They were off. The fighting had moved several houses down. Sully never stopped talking while they were moving; she explained everything that had happened while Lissa was out.

"We've got a hell of a lot of work cut out for us," she said. "Apparently this village was housing a group of assassins sent by the Mad King himself, just for you. Got here early and waited. They right flipped when they heard what Lon'qu did to 'em, the magnificent bastard, and turned on Captain Chrom. The lot's been a set-up right from the get-go."

Sully whipped out into the edges of the fray for a moment, pausing only when she put her lance through someone. She returned to Frederick's side moments after.

"Huh. They may be trained, but they're piss-poor compared to us!" Sully shot Lissa what the cleric thought was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Instead, it looked like one of Sully's usual dangerous grins. Lissa laughed in spite of herself. Good old Sully. She knew more about cooking than comforting.

Frederick let Lissa down near the center of everything. "Milord is close by," he said, squinting in the distance. "Please watch out."

"Keep both eyes open!" Sully ordered.

"Alright!" Lissa said. With a nod, both Sully and Frederick rode off to join Stahl, who was urging his horse to dodge a multitude of fireballs thrown by a woman who was tossing them out blindly. Lissa gripped her staff tightly.

"Healer!"

"Healer!"

A grunt. "Lissa!"

She had taken the few moments she'd had on Frederick's horse to get ready. She was prepared. She ran toward the nearest calls for help, the spell already on her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize for the untimely delay on getting this chapter out. I've had some personal problems that I swore up and down wouldn't interfere with my writing. Yesterday was a sort of rock bottom for me; hopefully, I'm on the upswing.


	9. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning: this chapter contains major spoilers for Chapter Nine of Fire Emblem: Awakening. If you have not reached this point in the game, please do not read any further.** (I find it interesting that this chapter encompasses all of chapter nine, and lo and behold, it is the ninth chapter of this story. I did not plan this.) If this chapter was hard to write, it was certainly harder to name. I considered "Emmeryn", in addition to other things, but since that's the actual name of Chapter Nine in the game, I thought that the feeling of it was already there. In case anyone was unclear, this is the chapter where the proverbial fecal matter hits the fan. Things are about to get real (or, at any rate, more real), and fast. As usual, R &R are always welcome. Usual disclaimers also apply. Enjoy!

He was sorry. Truly, he was.

They hadn't all been assassins. Some of them hadn't even known why they were fighting: they'd only picked up weapons to stand by their friends and family. Chrom knew this. But the village had housed those who meant to harm Lissa. They had taken up arms against the Shepherds. They had refused to talk. They weren't amenable to reason. That, he could not forgive. One of his sisters had already been taken; he would not allow another to slip away.

The smoldering remains of the village could be seen as far as four miles away. Chrom checked over his shoulder until the last wisps of smoke were out of sight, obliterated by blue sky and bright sun. The army had taken enough provisions to get them to the capital and then some, just in case. For the first time since setting off, the soldiers felt just as jubilant as their leader.

That night, Chrom slept soundly.

* * *

Frederick cursed himself a thousand times over for allowing his lord and lady to walk into such an obvious trap. To him, the battle of the village should have been anticipated. He had not been wary enough. The Mad King had known that the joint Ylissean-Feroxi army marched. It was to be expected that he would engage them. When that failed to happen, Frederick should have guessed that the Plegian ruler intended to break the army's morale first. The devil was nothing if not devious.

All throughout the battle, Frederick looked out for Chrom and Lissa. The young lord had held his own well. He was growing as a fighter. Soon, Frederick thought, he would surpass him in terms of skill, if not strength. The knight would have to train even harder to match the heir of the halidom.

Lissa, though, had been his main focus. She hadn't noticed, he was sure. She had been so busy tending to the wounds of the Shepherds that she could not have noticed as he skirted the battle, seeking out all those who took notice of the tiny cleric and sought to end her ministrations.

The lady had been pale and sweaty from exertion, but in the light of the fire, Frederick could clearly see her joy. She was protecting those for whom she cared. He would never, he swore, never live to see that joy dimmed.

* * *

Lon'qu would have been lying if he'd claimed not to have taken pleasure in the battle. It had given him an outlet for every vexing emotion that had accumulated over the course of the day. It had been a distraction from thoughts of the past, from the endlessness of the desert, and from the frankly unexpected issue of Lissa.

He had passed her off to Chrom after explaining what had happened with the assassins. The lord took care of her from there. Chrom had wanted to talk, but Lon'qu's bodyguard duty was over. He had no further obligation to the child. Frankly, he wanted to have nothing more to do with her brother, either.

He had, however, carried her back to her lodgings. Considering the heavy hoop skirt she was taken to wearing, she was too light. It didn't help that she didn't move as she'd slept. It disturbed him.

Lon'qu avoided both Chrom and Lissa tactfully and tried not to think about women's dead bodies all throughout the ride to the capital. Thankfully, another distraction would soon be at hand.

* * *

Lissa kept mostly to herself over the next few brief days. Once, she sought out Lon'qu, just to talk, but the swordsman had been impossible to find, and she'd soon given up.

At her behest, Chrom explained what had happened when Lon'qu had returned with her. Between Chrom's interactions with the villagers before the conflict started and a few conversations that he had overheard between the few survivors of the night, he had learned that the village had agreed to take in the assassins because they were relatives or friends of several of the families living there. They had been offered the promise of a better life so long as they killed Lissa; peerage as Plegian royalty for themselves and their families if they managed to kill both Ylissean royals. There was everything to gain and nothing to lose, at least on the surface. After all, what could a little girl do against trained professionals?

The princess shivered. Lon'qu had killed each assassin without so much as blinking. She had seen him during the later fight with the villagers, too. He'd moved with a kind of feral grace, felling anyone who so much as approached. He hadn't been the only one to stick by her, either. She'd seen Frederick doing laps throughout the fight, picking off anyone who got too close.

So much death. All because there happened to be a second princess of Ylisse, and it happened to be her. It wasn't anything personal, she knew, but still, it was hard to see it any other way.

She had to wonder: did Emmeryn feel the same? People had died when she'd been taken after Ylisstol fell - Khan Basilio had said that the death toll was hard to ascertain because some of the city had been razed, the bodies left to burn amongst the wreckage. Had Maribelle felt this bad when she'd been dragged across the border? It wasn't an experience her friend was inclined to talk about.

Lissa slept poorly, her dreams full of fire and knives.

* * *

Everyone was in place.

The Plegian capital lay before the army. The fight to end all fights was here at last. Khan Basilio had taken the Feroxi contingent to lay siege to the dungeons. There, Robin had predicted, Phila and the others would still be imprisoned. As soon as they were freed and Chrom took out the ground forces, everything could come together.

Chrom's mind was as clear as the sky above. It didn't matter that the army had suffered grievously on the road to the capital. Because of what he'd done, he could see her now, Emmeryn, where she stood on high. He smiled. All of his thoughts, everything he'd planned over the long course of the march, had been in preparation for this moment.

He gave the signal to Flavia, who, with her impeccable aim, felled the executioner.

The Mad King would fall, too, Chrom was sure. Soon, he and Emm would be swapping stories on the road home.

* * *

Frederick urged his horse through the sands, trying to lead the beast to stabler ground. They were so close. He had begun to believe that in assigning him to the Shepherds, the Exalt had done him a kindness. She had forced him to open up, to befriend, to trust. Perhaps it wasn't a process that he'd wholly embraced, but with more time, he felt sure that he could become a true Shepherd.

He would return the favor forever more with his service to the realm. For now, though, it didn't matter if the Plegian dogs prayed to Grima or Naga or no god at all; it didn't matter if they were soldiers or common villagers; it didn't matter if they were men, women, or children. He would cut them all down in the name of the future of Ylisse.

* * *

At first, Lon'qu thought that it was a vulture, the way it circled endlessly above the Exalt's head. After Chrom's army had finished in town, several vultures had descended from on high to feast on the flesh of the dead, tracing the same figure while they waited for the coast to clear. Out of respect, he supposed, Chrom had set fire to the bodies. The carrion birds had been scared away.

After running through several Plegians on the way to the gate to the Plegian capital, though, Lon'qu realized that it was a hawk. Such birds were symbols of authority and fearlessness. He'd once been told that no injury inflicted by the talons of a hawk could be healed. Those were the old beliefs.

More Plegians approached. No time - nor desire - to think of the old ways.

Though, his traitorous mind had to ask: hadn't the little girl he used to know worn the same light green color as the Exalt?

* * *

So close, so close, _so close_!

Lissa could see Emmeryn. She thought that her big sister must be smiling at her because she could feel the warmth and the love and it had nothing to do with the sun and the fact that she hadn't slept more two hours the night before.

Well, maybe it had. Lissa was willing to admit that much. But she was sure that Emmeryn could see her. She was sure that she was proud. So high up, higher even than the sky. Lissa thought that she'd like to be up there, too - once all of the creepy Plegian executioners were dealt with, of course.

The hope that had taken hold of Chrom bubbled within her chest. Robin's plan was working. Frederick was mowing down everyone who came before him; Lon'qu and Chrom and everyone else were doing just as much damage to the enemy numbers. They were going to break through. They were going to win.

Lissa didn't want to jinx anything, but she thought that she'd be sleeping well again soon.

* * *

The general defending the gate fell under the weight of the Shepherd's assault. It was over. Emmeryn was safe.

"Robin! Their wyvern riders have fallen! The skies are clear! I'm giving the signal!"

He indicated to Sumia, who, along with Cordelia, promptly lit colored flares. Moments later, a legion of pegasus knights descended from their hiding places. At the head of their platoon, Phila tugged at the reigns of her mount, a bit unsteady in the saddle after her imprisonment. Her relief, however, was apparent.

"Your Grace!"

* * *

"Milady!"

Frederick rode to where Lissa was gesturing at him.

"Frederick, we've done it! Phila's here!" She was beaming from ear to ear, bouncing up and down while pointing at the sky. Even with the Mad King only several yards away, even though Frederick supposed there would be many more battles to follow once they returned to Ylisstol with the Exalt, they had done it. They deserved this happiness - Lissa most of all.

He gave a rare smile. "Yes, milady, we have."

* * *

Lon'qu felt his shoulders droping. The battle was over. Something told him that this was the end. It was finished.

He kept the Mad King in sight nonetheless. The man - if he could truly be called that - appeared truly anguished. On the other hand, his aide, that fiendish woman who more resembled a bird than a human, did not appear fazed in the slightest.

The lightness left the swordsman. Perhaps they were not quite free and clear.

* * *

Lissa couldn't contain herself. It was over, they were going _home_! All of them. Emmeryn. Chrom. Phila. Frederick. Lon'qu. Well, maybe not Lon'qu. His case was pretty complicated. She waved at him emphatically, though he seemed preoccupied. Even so, everyone could be accounted for. They were all safe and sound. Phila was rising through the air with a flawless grace that Lissa envied. She was so close, she had her arms out, and Emmeryn reached out, and-

* * *

_No_.

Chrom panicked. Where had they even come from? "Damn! Not now!"

* * *

Frederick's ears refused to register sound.

Risen. Risen with bows.

* * *

The world slowed to a halt. Bowstrings were pulled back. Fast as he was, Lon'qu could not bridge the distance between himself and the undead archers in time. He knew better than to try.

* * *

Lissa stopped. Phila's hand was still extended, but the shot had been clean. Blood splattered her sister's robes. Emmeryn wasn't smiling anymore.

* * *

Gangrel was laughing. _Laughing_. Chrom wanted to run him through, but he was too far away, too heavily guarded. The man could pull corpses out of thin air to fight for him.

_We've lost…_

The Plegian king wanted the Fire Emblem. He said that no one else needed to die so long as Chrom handed it over. But the Mad King was a liar. Robin was talking a mile a minute into Chrom's ear, telling him the reasonable thing: no one person was worth the lives of so many others, but this was his _sister_ , and he couldn't…could he?

His voice faltered, and Gangrel picked up on the weakness.

"What's this? You'll let your sister and ruler die, all to save some old family trinket?" There was that laughter again, pure and unrestrained and utterly heartless. "Oh, so delicious! I can't _wait_ to hear what your people have to say about it. 'THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!'"

* * *

Frederick's eyes were on Phila's dead body. Others had joined hers, but she alone held his full attention. She had been one of Ylisse's finest for years. Her reputation as a famed flier had grown to mythological proportions long before Frederick enlisted in the knights. She had earned her place as the Exalt's personal guard through years of dedication and hard work.

Phila's pegasus, ever loyal, had descended from the skies. It nuzzled its dead master.

One of the Risen approached. Frederick could not look away, not even when Risen archer pulled back the bowstring and released, the arrow lodging itself in the animal's skull. The pegasus fell beside its rider.

His eyes lifted to the Exalt. Her hand was still extended to take the one Phila had proffered.

He couldn't bear to listen to the Mad King. It couldn't end like this.

* * *

The hawk circled in the sky. Perhaps it was a vulture after all.

* * *

Lissa pulled at Frederick's arm.

"Do something! Please, do something, I can't, I can't-!" Frederick did nothing. "Lon'qu! Do something, please!" The swordsman seemed to have fixed his attention on the sky. Lissa couldn't believe it, not any of it. She pulled away from Frederick, screaming across the courtyard at Gangrel. Even she didn't know what she was saying.

All she did know was that she heard her sister shout above everyone else, and at that, she fell silent.

Her sister held both armies captive with her words. Only the Mad King and his aide were unshaken.

* * *

When she finished speaking, Emmeryn clasped her hands together and bowed her head. Oh Gods, she _couldn't_ -

* * *

Frederick's eyes left the Exalt. Once more, he couldn't watch her. All he saw were the Risen and Lissa. He moved himself between them and held his lance tight. He would not be sick, he told himself resolutely. He was no rookie. He would not be sick. He would not give in. He would not give in.

Lissa had to live.

* * *

Lon'qu was transfixed. The green form was falling. The hawk flew away.

He should have known: it was foolish to believe that he could protect one whom he felt he had already failed once as a child.

* * *

Lissa wanted to scream. She tore at her hair and doubled over, hoping to be sick and failing. She was too far away to hear her sister hit the ground - _tell me she didn't hit the ground_ \- but too close not to see, not to _see_ the damage that had been wrought.

* * *

Chrom kneeled.

"Emm…"

Gangrel laughed and laughed and laughed. "Well now!" He paused to catch his breath. "How disgustingly _noble_. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. And I've seen many fall."

* * *

Frederick turned and grabbed hold of Lissa. He pulled her onto the horse in front of him and kneed the beast as hard as he could. Her skirt kicked up because of that ridiculous hoop, and she was screaming and tearing at his armor, but he didn't care. He raced past Khan Basilio who was charging forward, yelling at Chrom to pull back.

He knew that his lord would withdraw, but he would not wait. His lady was in danger. He chose to be selfish.

* * *

"Follow the others!"

Khan Basilio's personal order was final. Lon'qu sheathed his sword and set off without a word. He followed the dust of Frederick's horse to where the Feroxi warriors were gathered. Many were injured. Some were not present at all.

Lon'qu kept going. He thought that if he hit the ocean, he might just keep running.

* * *

Lissa was a fountain of tears and babble. She couldn't form a coherent thought to save her life. She thought that she could save everyone, but _Emmeryn_ had fallen, and she'd done it by herself, and Lissa couldn't do anything to stop it.

The others caught up as they fled west. Maribelle tried to speak with her, but she turned her friend away. The noblewoman couldn't keep up, anyway: Frederick was riding fast. Lissa clutched at her knight for dear life. At some point, Khan Basilio pulled up alongside them, directing Frederick to slow down so that they could form a cohesive group. The knight took his time in obliging.

Lissa didn't care. She just held on and prayed a selfish prayer to turn back the hands of time and stop it all.

The rain began to fall. The truth was painful and obvious: Emmeryn was dead.


	10. Lacrimosa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chrom makes poor decisions while mentally incapacitated.

The Khans of Regna Ferox led the army into a series of low ravines that criss-crossed the western portion of Plegia. Khan Flavia had explained why after talking strategy with Robin, but Chrom's mind couldn't hold any thought that didn't find Emmeryn at its center.

He had spent so long believing that Emmeryn could be saved that he hadn't been able to imagine any alternative. Then he had to watch her die. He had to listen to the man who killed her laugh about it. _Laugh_.

Gangrel's voice still echoed in his head.

_"THE EXALT IS DEAD! LONG LIVE HER MURDERER!"_

_"How disgustingly noble. And so lovely a fall! Here I thought death to be an ugly thing. I've never seen one fall so gracefully, in fact. And I've seen many fall."_

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed and rain dripped from the ends of Chrom's hair and landed in his eyes. The water stung, but not nearly enough. Chrom had the sick urge to feel pain: to ride into battle without care and feel the graze of the swords against his flesh. He wanted the danger and the slices and every last blow. Not enough to kill him, certainly; just enough to make him feel it. He scratched at his skin, clawing at his brand until it was rubbed raw and red. He thought of everything and nothing all at once, unable to concentrate or focus. He wanted to tear at his face and groan and pitch a fit like a child, but he could not. It would do no good. Emmeryn was dead. His older sister, his role model, his _friend_ \- she was gone.

Her killer was still at large. Chrom's blood boiled to think of it.

Though it wasn't what Emmeryn would have done, Chrom had only one goal for the immediate future: Gangrel, the Mad King of Plegia, had to die.

* * *

"Milord, if I may have a moment…"

Chrom looked at Frederick. The knight stood tall and solemn, his hands tucked behind his back. They had stopped for a minute at the behest of Robin, who was busy reordering the troops. Chrom wanted to get back under way.

"Do you have to do that?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Hold your hands like that. Put them at your side. It makes me nervous."

Frederick's hands immediately dropped. The knight's face was as unreadable as always.

"Milord, I wish to speak with you."

"Later, Frederick. I have much to think about."

* * *

Chrom couldn't move fast enough. Though his mind raced, his body was sluggish. The rain made his clothes heavy and uncomfortable, the trapped water seeping into his skin. Inside his gloves, his fingers were prunes. His armor chafed his joints, pinching and rubbing blisters. It didn't help that the ground beneath his feet, once solid and baked from months without rain, had turned to mud deep enough that his boots threatened to lodge with every step.

Only the combined cajoling of Khan Basilio and Robin kept Chrom moving at the pace of the army. They, at least, had a plan. Frederick had tried to weasel his way in as well, but Chrom had ignored him. The knight could do nothing for him at the moment.

"Quickly!" Khan Basilio shouted, motioning at Chrom. "We're almost-"

Khan Basilio could not finish. Several Plegian fighters appeared from the shadows of the ravines before them. Chrom skidded to a halt and looked behind. There was the blast from a horn, and more Plegians appeared. The army was encircled. They had run directly into a trap.

The West-Khan cursed for all to hear. "Plegians! I knew it couldn't be that easy," he said. He pulled his axe from his back. "They're right in our way! We must fight!"

"Chrom! We need to split the army!" Robin cried. The Plegians had drawn weapons, but they showed no signs of moving. A commander was approaching from the front, but Chrom was paying him little attention as of yet. "If we fight this one-sided, we're doomed."

"What do you propose we do?" Chrom questioned, drawing his blade. "I've no mind to surrender. I'll fight alone if I have to."

"Ylisseans!" the Plegian commander shouted over the rain. "I am Mustafa, commander of this platoon. Surrender to me now and live!"

"Surrender? Sorry, I'm not familiar with the word," Khan Basilio sneered. To Chrom, he said, "Get your head screwed on straight, boy! I'll take the Feroxi guard to the rear. Don't get yourself killed!"

Mustafa raised both hands. "Emmeryn would not have wished for this to come to bloodshed," he spoke.

Chrom snapped, "Don't speak her name!" He raised his sword in the air. The Shepherds responded with a war cry. There could be no surrender now, Chrom thought. There could only be battle, and there could only be one end, one where Gangrel and all his followers lay dead in the dust.

* * *

The mud slowed everything down, but Chrom didn't allow that to deter him. He had a mission. This was it.

Around him, he was dimly aware of the Shepherds as they, too, fought their way through the ranks of the enemy. Whether they followed Robin's commands or not, Chrom had no idea. He, personally, didn't even know where the strategist was. He didn't care.

There was a soldier before him with a lance, and another with a bow, an arrow already nocked and primed. The arrow missed its target, blown askew by the wild winds, and Chrom dodged the soldier's lance, slipping his blade in between the wood of the lance and the soldier's arm. He sliced the limb from the body with a clean motion, then swept the blade back across the stunned man's chest. The archer retreated before Chrom could run him through, too.

Wyverns shrieked as they flew across the ravines. They were dangerous, but the beasts could not fit in the gaps. When one flew low, Chrom merely pulled his sword up, slicing across its belly. He was rewarded with a new coat of wyvern intestines, but it didn't matter. The rain would wash it away.

Chrom pushed forward. His body was beginning to feel the strain of the fight, the urge to settle in one place, but he fought it. There were still more Plegians to fight, more enemies to slay. Emmeryn would be avenged.

The Ylissean lord heard all of the commotion around him, but he had isolated himself from the noise. Whether the Plegians hurled insults at him or attempted to reason with him, he knew not. He couldn't even be sure if the sounds he heard were from the enemy side at all; the Shepherds could have called for him, but he would not have registered the sounds. He was deaf.

That was, he told himself, why he didn't move when he heard the whizz of the arrow.

It hit him in the lower chest on the right side, where he was least protected. The shock of it sent him reeling backwards. His eyes raced across the field before him. Near the top of the slope of the ravine, Chrom could see an archer. Was he shaking, or was the archer shaking, or was it the rain? Chrom felt light-headed and dizzy. His body fell backwards and he stumbled, tripping over his own feet. His sword left his hand.

"Not while I draw breath!"

Before his eyes could shut all the way, Chrom was forcibly lifted from the ground, pulled by the scruff of his cape. He was thrown unceremoniously across the front of a horse running at full speed.

"Frederick?"

The knight gripped a lance in his free hand. The other, Chrom realized, was the only thing keeping him on the horse. The older man's eyes narrowed. Someone screamed, and Chrom felt a horrible pull as the horse made impact - or, Chrom saw briefly, as the lance made impact. The archer's body was actually torn in two by the force of the lance. Frederick wheeled back around, the horse kicking up on its back legs. Chrom was smushed against his knight, and the pressure against his wound made him cry out.

"Hold on." Frederick sounded very far away. "Hold on, milord."

Chrom breathed out as Frederick readjusted him. The horse set off again on another mad dash, this time back downslope. More wyverns screamed. The rain had been cold, but Chrom no longer truly felt it. He slumped forward and closed his eyes.

* * *

Someone was crying.

"Emm… Oh, Emm…"

Chrom tried to open his eyes, but the light was too bright. He squeezed his eyes shut. He must have been staring at the sun.

He tried to focus on sound to determine where he was. He thought that he knew the voice of the one crying, but his memory was a little blurry.

"I should have died before allowing the Exalt to be captured," someone else said. "I have failed as a knight."

"No! Don't talk like that! It's not your- It's not your fault…"

Much closer, Chrom heard: "So what now, oaf?"

"Don't look at me-I'm not in charge!"

"Ugh. I picked a fine time to regain the full throne."

Chrom tried to open his eyes again. He did know these people. Names and faces appeared in his mind: there was Frederick, his knight; Khan Flavia, East Khan; Khan Basilio, West Khan, too, and…

"Look! He's waking up!"

The voice cracked, but it was laced with hope. A shadow stepped over him, shielding him from the light. Chrom looked up to see the most familiar face.

"Lissa?"

She grinned down at him. Her shoulders shook, and Chrom realized that she was crying, too. "You… YOU _IDIOT_!" Chrom barely had time to scoot over to one side before the little girl threw herself at him, beating against his chest with her little fists. He felt horribly sore; what had happened again? He didn't remember all of it.

"HOW DARE YOU GO AND TRY TO DIE ON ME!" she screamed. "HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE THE WORST BIG BROTHER EVER! YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE AND I WASN'T GOING TO HAVE ANYONE AND I WAS-"

"Milady, please."

A heavy, gauntleted hand rested on the little girl's shoulder. She stopped her furious rant immediately, looking over her shoulder at the speaker. Frederick smiled down at her.

"But, Frederick-!"

"You'll have plenty of time to berate him for his carelessness later, milady," he said. Chrom thought that he was probably dizzy, but Frederick actually sounded as if he were being… _sweet_.

"But…"

"No more 'but's, milady. You said so yourself; he needs his rest. We can't have an army without a commander."

"Or a country without a king," Lissa added with a wink. "You're right. I'll find somewhere else to cause trouble, then." She was off before anyone could say anything to the contrary, giggling as she skipped along. Chrom's eyes travelled to the doorway she picked to exit. There was someone waiting there who she followed out.

Khan Basilio shook his head. "That girl's going to be the death of Lon'qu, isn't she?"

Khan Flavia just laughed. "You men are all alike. You don't know what to do with women who have balls. That kid's tough and persistent; if your man can't take that, he shouldn't have the right to be called a warrior."

"Perhaps you're right, woman."

"You only say that because you're worried I'll call you out, too."

"Hey!"

To Chrom, Khan Flavia said, "Listen, while you need your beauty rest and all that, there's a war to be fought. Our warriors are itching to fight. While we understand that your sister's sacrifice was in the name of peace, it has galvanized morale like you wouldn't believe."

Khan Basilio nodded. "Your Shepherds, too, have been anxious for you to make a full recovery. Your little strategist has been blowing blood vessels right and left, too. I've never seen anyone produce that many strategies in such a short period of time."

Chrom was dazed by all of this. "What happens now?"

Khan Flavia laughed again. Chrom thought briefly about telling her that he liked her laugh, but the reasonable part of his mind reminded him that he would likely receive a sharp blow as thanks for the compliment. "We plan, of course! We can't go marching without any guidance. The oaf here and I are meeting with your Shepherds and the sub-commanders of both our armies to plan the next step. Get your wits about you and meet up with us when you're ready."

"Right," Chrom replied. The two khans left together, bickering amongst themselves. Frederick remained by Chrom's side. Something appeared to be wrong with the knight. It took him a moment to realize: it was his arms that seemed odd. He had left them hanging at his sides.

Frederick cleared his throat.

"Milord, I wish to speak to you."

"What is it, Frederick?" Even to his own ears, Chrom sounded loopy.

Frederick sighed, his shoulders sinking. "It's for your own good, my prince," he spoke. Chrom arched an eyebrow. Gingerly, as if performing one of the annual military dress drills, Frederick raised one arm, the angle between forearm and bicep a perfect ninety degrees. He flattened his palm, drew a deep breath, and swiped his arm clean across, rotating from the shoulder. His open palm collided with Chrom's face, and his neck snapped to one side.

For all that Chrom didn't understand the full intricacies of language, and for all that he already felt hazy, this was something that he understood perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter took altogether too long to write. I had a very difficult time striking the right tone with Chrom in this one. He's just gone through hell and been dumped out on the other side without ceremony; I didn't know quite how to capture that particular brand of horror. Hopefully I've done it at least partial justice. Also, R&R make me write faster and better. Just saying. Usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!


	11. Intransigence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frederick explains selectively.

Frederick held his hand where the arc of the slap ended. He stared at it for a few moments. The hand was still attached to his arm. His arm was still attached to his torso. There was no force acting on his body, no third party dictating his motions. He had, in theory, been in control of the entire movement.

The knight resisted the urge to tuck his hands behind his back. He had no wish to anger his lord. Even so, keeping his arms by his sides proved difficult: it seemed that he could no longer control his appendages without complete concentration.

"My apologies, milord," Frederick said. He could not bring himself to sound as contrite as he ought to have been.

"Frederick?" Chrom asked, rubbing his cheek. The lord's head remained snapped back for a few moments as well. However, to his credit, the prince soon recovered.

"Yes, milord?"

"What was that for?"

Frederick sighed. "Reckless endangerment."

"What? Of who?"

"Yourself."

Chrom blinked at him without offering any kind of verbal response to indicate that he understood that to which Frederick alluded. The knight allowed his shoulders to sink under the weight of his armor. He had to remind himself that the young prince had only just regained consciousness as he asked, "Do you remember anything that happened when we were accosted in the ravines, milord?"

"I— Not exactly, no. We were surrounded by a Plegian force. I recall that much."

Frederick nodded. "You have been unconscious for two days, milord," he said. "You were badly injured."

"What happened?"

* * *

"Don't speak her name!" Chrom snapped. Frederick watched his lord raise his sword. All around him, a war cry went up, a resounding thunder that challenged the very skies to do better. Against his better sense, Frederick felt his own arm rising, his lance in the air and his voice surging alongside the others.

In front of him, Lissa quivered.

"Your rage is justified, Prince Chrom. But the meaning of your sister's final sacrifice was not lost on me." The emphasis on the "me" made Frederick suspect that the Plegian general thought poorly of the Ylissean prince's response. "I suspect many Plegians who heard her final words would say the same. If you lay down your weapons, I vow to protect you as best I can."

The Plegian general Mustafa appeared earnest, but Chrom was not paying the slightest bit of attention. His gaze was focused sharp, just as it had been out in the desert, and it betrayed a single-mindedness that Frederick feared was driven by none other than the base desire for bloodshed. At that moment, he was his father's son, if not the father himself, resurrected in his son's flesh.

Frederick thought that accepting the Plegian general's offer was likely the smartest tactic. The trembling form seated directly in front of him, however, served as a potent reminder: Chrom and Lissa were his charges. Before all else, even before common sense, he was to protect them, to advise them, and, even if they were to choose the wrong course of action, to see them through on their chosen path. With that knowledge, the only possible response was clear.

"How can we trust you after what your barbarous king has done?" Frederick questioned. "I think we shall take our chance with weapons in hand!"

"I suspected you would say as much," Mustafa said. "So be it, Prince Chrom. I shall endeavor to grant you a swift and dignified end." He raised his axe. The Plegian war cry, if it could be called such, was weak. It lacked the heart, the sheer desperation, of the Ylissean-Feroxi army. Frederick wondered how many had seen Emmeryn fall. He did not have long to consider it, though; all around him, the battle had begun.

"Hold on, milady," Frederick spoke, pulling at the reins of his horse. The hands that encircled him tightened in response. The princess's staff hit him several times in the back as he pushed the horse to a full gallop. He had to get her to safety before he could do anything about Chrom, and he knew exactly where he could take her to get her out of harm's reach.

* * *

Finding the Feroxi swordsman in the rain in the midst of the battle proved no mean feat. The Ylissean-Feroxi army split evenly to take on the Plegian forces in the front and the back, but the ravines were full of enemy soldiers, and the wyverns attacking from above further complicated matters.

Even so, with much patience, Frederick found him. Lon'qu was doing well for himself. Robin had set him to work fighting alongside Vaike, coordinating their movements to effectively block off one of the ravine's pathways. Lon'qu's seriousness was to be expected; Vaike's concentration, however, was above average. He made none of his usual boasts as he split shields and cleaved armor. The change was both welcomed and disturbing.

"Lon'qu!" Frederick called.

The swordsman felled the opponent immediately before him. He muttered to Vaike, "Cover me," before turning to the knight.

"Down you go, milady," Frederick said. Lissa shook her head no. "Please. Princess." She shook her head again and gripped him tighter.

"What do you need?" Lon'qu questioned.

"Protection. For her."

"I killed her assassins. My bodyguard services are over."

"Frederick…"

The knight shook his head emphatically. "I need to protect Prince Chrom. He is," he paused, "not himself. Please. You've kept her safe thus far."

"I can't protect anyone."

"You can, and you have. She's alive right now because of you. I need you do this now."

"No."

"I can't protect them both."

The admission was heavy. Vaike shouted at Lon'qu to hurry up. A swarm of Plegian soldiers had formed a phalanx down the ravine, and several archers had decided to put him in their collective line of sight. The rain came down harder. A wyvern screamed. Vaike shouted again, swinging his axe wildly. He could not hold the path by himself.

"Fine." Lon'qu pulled Lissa off the horse. She landed gracelessly on her knees in the mud. He proffered a hand. "Get up." She obeyed, pushing herself up with her staff. Frederick noted that she left his hand hanging until he dropped it. If he felt satisfied, well, it was only because he knew that both nobles would be cared for.

"Thank you," Frederick said. "Take care."

The Feroxi responded after Frederick had turned his back. "And you as well."

* * *

Chrom was far to the front of the party. He had hacked his way through the enemy line alone, Frederick noted. He had no backup, no help, and no discernible plan. At the very least, he wasn't following the one Robin had been shouting at all of the soldiers, trying to get them to fight as something of the cohesive army they claimed to be. It was worse than he'd expected.

A wyvern rider swooped down close to the lord as Frederick approached, the beast's jaws open. Frederick pulled a throwing axe from its holster and, with only a millisecond to aim, sent it careening toward the Plegian. Though it did not strike true, it managed to wound both rider and mount. Perhaps without even thinking, Chrom thrust his sword up and gutted the beast, sending it crashing into the base of one of the rock formations, shaking the fortress atop it.

"Prince Chrom!" Frederick shouted. The thunder saw fit to drown him out; he cried again, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. An arrow spooked his horse; it lifted into its back hooves, nearly throwing Frederick in the process. In the meantime, Chrom charged forward, decapitating an enemy soldier with several brutal hacks of his blade. Admittedly, the sight turned Frederick's stomach. This was not the young man Frederick knew and cared for.

Nonetheless, he would protect him. Frederick put his lance through a bumbling Plegian who had ducked into the ravine to get away from the lighting that Miriel summoned from a waterlogged tome. He turned just in time to see an arrow headed for Chrom. He blinked, and it had already lodged in the young lord's body.

Frederick did not think. He did not conscientiously make any plans. There was no logic, no structure, and no outline for what was to follow. There was only _rage_.

"Not while I draw breath!" he shouted, charging forward. He kicked his horse so hard that it took off at racing speeds, its shod hooves slipping in the slick of the mud. Frederick brought out his free hand to lift Chrom from the ground, pulling him by his cape. When he thought that he was likely far enough across the horse to stay on, he set him down and pulled him closer.

In his other hand, the metal of the lance seemed to bite into his hand through his gauntlet. His eyes zeroed in on the archer who had hurt his lord. He would be made to pay.

Frederick did not look away as he ran the man clean through. He saw as he tore through muscle tissue, ripping through veins and arteries and shattering bones. He felt the tug on his arm as the body resisted the sharp steel of the lance, and he did not relent. Mercy was not an option.

The body was torn clean in two. The soldier's blood, carried across the shaft of the lance by Frederick's momentum, found the chinks in his armor. He felt as it seeped through the fabric and wetted his skin.

Frederick pulled up on the reins as the horse approached a dead end. Once again, the beast went up on two legs, stumbling and nearly losing footing, before coming back down. In front of him, Chrom cried out in agony. When he looked up at Frederick, he did so without seeing him. His eyes had the glassy look of the dead.

"Hold on," Frederick ordered, pulling at Chrom until he sat on the horse properly. He dropped his lance. Not only could he not feasibly carry it and his lord, but it could no longer do any real damage: it had snapped in two. "Hold on, milord." He felt the young lord's pulse at his neck. It was erratic and slow. Frederick kicked the horse hard, sending it running again. With one hand on the reins and the other looped around his lord's waist, Frederick urged the horse to go even faster. No speed could be fast enough.

They needed a healer. Frederick had no idea where to find Maribelle, or even if she was still alive, but there was one woman with a staff who he was sure yet lived.

* * *

Luck was not with Frederick.

He cursed everyone and everything. He damned Plegia, the Mad King, all of his subjects, loyal and otherwise, and anyone else. He cursed Chrom's dead father, though he knew he would regret it later; he cursed his own father for responding to the army's call. He cursed himself.

He could not find the army. It was an _army_ , and he could not find it.

Corpses littered the labyrinth of the ravines. Between the rain and the mud, they were already bloated and blue, the bodies swelling to bulge grotesquely through the armor. Frederick's horse trampled them underfoot. Some of them shrieked. Not quite dead, then, but close.

"Damn it!" Frederick shouted. "Where is everyone?"

He pulled his horse to a stop, sending it around in a circle. The rain blinded him. No enemies, but no allies, either. Where had they all gone?

A voice called to him from on the wind. He spun around again, holding Chrom up with one hand. The lord had stopped so much as groaning some time ago. Frederick was too frightened to check his pulse.

"Up here!"

Frederick looked up, squinting against the rain. Khan Basilio was waving violently from the back of a black stallion Frederick did not remember the army owning. He looked like he was going to fall off at any instant.

"My lord!"

"Is that your dashing prince? Where the hell have you been?"

"We need a healer!"

"The carriages have already left!"

" _We need a healer!_ "

Khan Basilio looked over his shoulders. He shouted something Frederick did not understand, then turned back around to face him.

"You have to bring him up here! Follow me!"

Frederick rode as he directed. Khan Basilio led him to a steep path that took them to the level of the mountain fortresses Frederick had seen. Chrom moaned in agony when pressure was put on his wound. At least, Frederick thought bitterly, he was still alive.

"Is he even breathing?" Khan Basilio eyed Chrom with disgust.

"He yet lives, but damn it all, we need a healer!"

Khan Basilio turned to yell again, but there was no need. There was a horse and rider fast approaching. It skidded to a halt in front of them. Frederick's heart leaped.

"Chrom!" Lissa yelled, letting go of Lon'qu's waist. The Feroxi swordsman met Frederick's gaze and nodded once. The lady was unharmed.

"Come on, we have to move!" Khan Basilio shouted. Had he not been so close, his voice would have been lost to the raging winds. "There will be reinforcements!"

Lissa wasn't wasting any time. Lon'qu pulled her up close enough to close the biggest of the wounds on Chrom without dismounting. Frederick wondered where that hoop skirt of hers had gotten to.

He hadn't the time to ask. Chrom was no longer bleeding profusely, but he was still unconscious. There were shouts from down below, heard only in the absence of thunder. Khan Basilio led the way; the Ylissean army was still on the run.

* * *

Frederick blinked several times at Chrom.

"You were struck by an arrow," he said. Even to his own ears, his voice was lame.

"That's it?"

The knight breathed, timing each inhalation and subsequent exhalation. When four sets had passed, he nodded once.

"Yes, my prince. That is all."

Chrom rubbed his face where Frederick had slapped him. "Wait a minute. I get shot, and you slap me? That doesn't sound right."

Frederick smiled. "No, it does not."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Is my lord feeling better?"

Chrom scowled at him. "My ears are ringing and I'm seeing double. Either I'm weak, or your sword arm is much stronger than you let on in training practice."

"That is a detestable notion. I have never gone easy on anyone in my life."

The lord chuckled softly and shook his head. "You never change, Frederick."

"I try, sir."

Chrom's eye settled on Frederick's torso. "Although… Are you feeling all right?"

"I slap you and you ask me if I'm ill? Perhaps I was a bit strong—"

"No. It's just your carriage. You usually fold your arms behind your back." Frederick stiffened. Almost immediately after speaking, Chrom pursed his lips. Realization dawned in his eyes, and he looked away. "Oh." Frederick could think of nothing to say.

Chrom sighed aloud. "It's a poor excuse, but I have not been myself lately. Emmeryn, I…" He trailed off, unable to finish his thought. Frederick's hands itched to go behind him. He needed to ground himself, but he could not. He timed his breathing and waited.

"It's no excuse," Chrom said. "None at all. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I was…too emotional."

"The Exalt was your sister," Frederick spoke, the past tense resting heavy on his tongue. "It would be singularly aberrant if you did not react."

"I could have done better. I will do better." Chrom's tone was forceful. "What has happened to the army since I was…injured?" he asked, choosing his words carefully.

Frederick cleared his throat. "Executive power over the army was given to Khans Basilio and Flavia pending your recovery. Robin, too, has been directing much of our activity."

"Where are we now?"

"A fortress on the edge of the plains. Apparently, after they laid siege to the dungeons, Khans Basilio and Flavia sent a number of Feroxi wranglers to the ravines with some commandeered carriages. Whether we succeeded or not, they were to take us up north, out of the reach of the main Plegian army. Robin said it was a stroke of luck we found this fortress at all; it was marked on but a single map of the area. By the looks of things, it has been abandoned for some time now."

Chrom nodded. "I see. Where is everyone now?"

"At the moment, they are likely scattered around the fortress. Soon, though, they will all assemble in the audience chamber. It's the only place big enough for a full gathering of our forces." Chrom shifted, then fell backwards. His ears were flaming.

"Frederick?"

"Yes, my prince?"

"Can you take me there?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Chrom looked to one side. He stubbornly refused to face Frederick. "I cannot stand up."

Frederick's eyes widened. The young lord was clutching his side, his fingers gripping the flesh. He laughed, and the knight winced.

"I cannot stand," he said again. "Frederick, I don't think I can do this."

"Yes you can, milord," Frederick replied. He pulled one of Chrom's arms up and draped it over his own shoulders.

"They will laugh at me."

The statement was too childish for Frederick to take seriously. "My lord, please. There is not a man alive in this army who would dare mock their leader."

"I'm not the leader, Frederick," he said bitterly. It was the truth; Frederick could not argue with that.

"No one has to know," Frederick replied. "I will ask Lady Lissa to look at you before anyone else sees you. We shall go there first."

Chrom eyed Frederick as they began to move toward the door. "Is she all right?"

Frederick smiled. "She will be. In time. As will we all."

"Frederick?"

"It's nothing."

Chrom dragged his feet, but Frederick pulled him along regardless. "What aren't you telling me?"

"A great deal, I must admit," Frederick replied honestly, "though I believe it is to your benefit that I withhold such information."

"Frederick?" Chrom asked again.

"There's no helping it, milord," Frederick said. He kept his voice to a whisper. "Perhaps later."

Chrom was quiet for a moment. "Does this have to do with what you told me before? In the desert?"

Frederick made no response. He led them through several hallways and down a set of stairs. Chrom shuddered in the sudden light, and Frederick held a hand over his eyes. Light laughter came to them on fresh air.

"Oh, Frederick! You brought Chrom!"

Lady Lissa's smile was bright enough to make even the sun seem dull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then. This chapter was about as easy to produce as blood from a stone. The first part came easy enough, but then even I couldn't make it out of the ravines. Also, I realize that I likely have to up the warning on this bad boy. I'm getting a little too into the gory aspects of this war. Thoughts on whether I should/should not go from Teen to Mature for gore? **Also, and this is important: I am in dire need of a beta reader. Please contact me if interested for details.** That about covers everything I need to say. I am regrettably not associated with Nintendo and I do not own Fire Emblem. Please enjoy!


	12. Nightshades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lon'qu finally admits what he has known for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, college has started up again. I'm going to try to keep semi-regular updates, but I don't know how well I'll do with that. One way or another, though, I'm going to finish this story. **I'm still in need of a beta reader. Please contact me if you're interested.** Other than that, usual disclaimers apply; enjoy!

Khan Basilio's half-baked plan to escape the ravines via carriages had been strange enough. The coaches had clearly been intended for use by Plegian royals: the interiors were all gilt and red crushed velvet, the seats likely stuffed with goose-down. They had been frankly unnerving to see after fighting in the bloody muddy battlefield that was the ravines.

Finding an abandoned fortress in the middle of absolutely nowhere had been even odder. The building literally stood, as Robin keenly pointed out, in the middle of the vastest of the Plegian plains. There were no outposts stationed around it, no external watchtowers, and no towns. The fortress stood by itself, alone in a sea of grass.

The potato patch, however, took the cake, to use one of Lissa's expressions. As a matter of fact, Lissa had been the one to find it.

"Hey, look out!" the little princess called. Lon'qu dutifully looked in the direction that she indicated, though with no great haste or attention. She didn't sound frantic. His eyes fell on her target. A short distance from where they stood on the inside of the outermost wall of the fortress, there was a large, apparently overgrown patch of greenery. All of the plants were identical. It seemed to Lon'qu that it was intentional.

"What?"

"Isn't that poison ivy? You don't want to touch it, TRUST me." She winked. The expression sat poorly on her face; she had stopped crying mere minutes ago. She cried a lot these days.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? It's poison ivy!"

Lon'qu sighed. Under any other circumstances, he would have retreated long ago, going back to mind his own business, but orders were orders. Even if, he rued the thought, those orders didn't come directly from the man in charge. "What does it do?" he questioned.

Lissa rubbed her swollen eyes. She tried to stare at him in what was likely supposed to be amazement, but her eyes were too dry from the tears. She had put on a brave face when her brother had woken up, but now that they were separated, she had allowed herself a moment to fall to pieces. Thankfully, it hadn't lasted long. "It irritates your skin, silly! You get a horrible rash. It's difficult to get rid of, and very distracting. Not that I would know anything about it or anything." She winked again.

Lon'qu grunted in response. The princess was an imp. He had no doubt that she got into her fair share of trouble. He watched as she walked over to the plants, swaying slightly. Clearly, Frederick's attempts to get her to sleep had been in vain.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Hey, you wouldn't have a pair of gloves, would you? Heavy ones?" Lon'qu considered ignoring her, but there was no one else in the immediate area, and the knight had expressly forbidden him from leaving the girl alone.

"What do you need them for?"

"I want to pick one of these leaves and get a closer look at it. I always end up getting breakouts from these things. I'd like to know how to identify them in the future, you know?"

"I have no gloves." He looked at the plants. "Regardless, I do not believe that this is the plant about which you speak." The swordsman crouched to get a better look. He ran a finger across the edge of one of the leaves, ignoring Lissa's frantic cry not to touch them. "Potatoes."

"Huh?"

"Potato plants." Lon'qu extracted one of his knives from its scabbard and began to dig. He was aware that Lissa was watching him, crouching close to him as he moved the blade deep in the loose dirt. He thought that he ought to tell her to back up, to give him space, but he breathed deeply and remained silent. Give her a victory. She _had_ been crying.

Lon'qu made a jagged circle around one of the plants, easing it to a cone where he thought the base might be. Gingerly, he pulled back. If he was right, the plant wouldn't be too fragile, but there was no sense in ruining a potential foodstuff from carelessness.

"Oh!"

"Potatoes," Lon'qu said again, holding up the newfound bounty. He examined the potato, turning it over in his hands. It felt firm enough, and it was the right color. It was the right time of year for them, too; at least, where he came from. Originally.

Lissa leaned over to get a closer look, putting one hand on his shoulder for stability. He took a sharp intake of breath. "Get back!"

Lissa jumped backwards from him with a pout. He glared at her, then turned his attention back to the potatoes. He thought for a moment, his scowl turning to a sharp frown.

"This is bad."

Lissa's jaw dropped. "Bad? What are you talking about? That is, I didn't mean to get so close to you— Well, that's a lie, I did it on purpose, but—"

"Not that. This."

"What, the potato? Is it rotten?"

"No."

"Then what do you mean? I haven't had a potato since we began marching! We should dig them all up!"

Lon'qu controlled his exhale to refrain from growling. "No," he said sharply. "Not the potatoes themselves." He stood up, brushing himself off.

Lissa groaned and stomped her foot. " _What_ , then?"

He looked down at her. He could try explaining — that potatoes required loose soil and consistent water, so they could not thrive by themselves in an abandoned fortress, so someone had to have been there recently, tending to the plants, and they were likely Plegian, so they were in danger — but he decided against it. There was no point in making her worry more.

"It's not important. Where's your knight?"

"Frederick is probably with my brother." Lissa's face changed again, and she looked away. Lon'qu wondered if she'd resume crying. He decidedly did not want that to happen. If nothing else, she was too loud.

"Let's find him, then."

"To show him the potato?"

"Yes."

Lissa nodded. He supposed that she had worked something out in her mind, something to explain what they were getting ready to do, but because she didn't speak of it, neither did he. There was no further need for excessive conversation anymore. He owed her nothing.

They walked for a while in the same silence. A few times, Lon'qu believed that he saw her reaching for his hand, but she withdrew every time. Something was bothering her. Lon'qu felt, for lack of a better word, itchy.

"Um, Lon'qu?" Lissa asked. He couldn't hold in a sigh. So much for silence.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," she said, kicking a rock as she went. "Now that you've foiled the plot, I guess your bodyguard duty is over." She paused. "I mean, I know Frederick told you to look after me while he takes care of Chrom. But, once he's all better, we're done walking together like this, aren't we?"

Lon'qu had no desire to lie. "I see no reason to continue."

Based on her reaction, this was not the correct answer, if any response could be said to be such. "Yeah, but," she reasoned, "we were finally getting close. I'd be sad to lose that now."

She looked up at him with hope. He scoffed. Getting close? That was the last thing he wanted to do. The knight seemed inclined to foist the little noblewoman off on him whenever her brother got into trouble, but he wanted nothing more to do with any of it. He _could not have_ any more to do with it. His work here was done. Whenever Khan Basilio left, so would he, and without a single backwards glance.

"Do not lay this at my feet," he said sternly. They walked the inner portion of the fortress now, the stone walled corridors blending into maddening similarity. "I told you to keep your distance."

"Yeah, but…"

Lon'qu spared a glance at Lissa. She looked as if she were about to cry again. Of all of the _ridiculous_ —

"I…suppose," the swordsman spoke, his teeth clenched, "we could still…chat." The word was difficult for his tongue to form. He was not overly fond of slang—at least, slang that didn't amount to an effective curse. "If you want, from time to time."

The princess brightened immediately. The swordsman narrowed his eyes as he looked upon her. He had just been manipulated by a woman half his size. He mentally berated himself. This was beyond idiotic. He had a sinking feeling in his gut that told him he'd just condemned himself to death by cleric. "You mean it?!" she cried, lunging at him. He froze in place as she hugged him. He squeezed his arms to his sides, willing the moment to end, but she had attached herself to him and refused to extricate herself until she was ready. "Oh, yay! Thanks, Lon'qu!"

Lon'qu knew that he was slipping around the little princess, dropping his carefully fabricated guard too much, but he hadn't known how bad things had gotten until words spilled forth from his mouth unbidden: "I thought you were afraid of me."

All movement stopped. Lissa's arms remained just as tight around him, but she had stopped squeezing. Lon'qu wondered if this was what a statue felt like up close.

Gingerly, Lissa stepped back. She kicked at the floor, scuffing her boots against the stone. "Let's just not talk about that, OK?" Her hands were behind her back, but he could see her staff as she shifted it from side to side. "Let's just go talk to Frederick about potatoes and pretend like…" She trailed off, her hair falling from her shoulders to hang at either side of her face.

Lon'qu thought for a long moment. He would like to talk to Frederick about potatoes. That was, in fact, the most prudent course of action. It was pressing.

He realized, though that when it came down to it, he really didn't want to go anywhere just yet. He damned himself several times over. He could not deny, he was _displeased_ that the tiny woman feared him. She should fear her enemies, she should fear the undead, but she should not fear _him_.

When had that changed?

Lon'qu's voice caught in his throat. The strangled sound that he made drew Lissa's gaze. Her eyes were wide, her pupils nearly eclipsing her irises. He'd seen her eyes like that before: in the village, when he had finished with her attackers, she had looked at him that same way. He knew that look well from animals and foes alike: it was a look on the face of the hunted, of those about to die who knew that the inevitable final stroke was on its way.

It was the look of pure, unadulterated fear.

"Let's find your knight, little one," Lon'qu said finally. The words were awkward on his tongue, but they were all that would come out.

"No."

"What?"

Lissa had turned around. "I want to go back outside."

"We need to find Frederick."

"I don't care."

Lissa started walking. When he realized that she was going to move whether he followed or not, he jogged after her until he could match her pace. She was pushing herself, not quite running yet, but moving fast enough that Lon'qu actually had to work a little to stay abreast of her.

"I'm going back outside," Lissa said defiantly. "You can follow me if you want to. I don't care."

"Lissa."

She stopped walking. Lon'qu wheeled around to face her, using his momentum to plant himself before her. She was looking at the ground as if it held all of the answers.

"Lissa."

He could see her biting her bottom lip, but not much else. Her shoulders were shaking. One of her hands went up to rub at her eyes and came back down wet. The other hand soon followed suit, the pair hiding her face. Her staff clattered to the ground.

Lon'qu breathed out and braced himself. Lissa was crying.

* * *

Lissa had been crying in the ravines. Lon'qu had seen the tears through the rain when Lissa stood on her own and Frederick rode away. Rather than offering comfort, he had ordered her to get rid of her hoop skirt so that she wouldn't sink into the mud. She had obliged, leaving the iron cage to rust in the rain.

* * *

Lissa had cried when Chrom had been loaded into a carriage, his unconscious body no longer bleeding but still in poor shape. Lon'qu knew what she feared: she had lost one sibling already. To lose another would be a burden too heavy to bear. She had ridden behind him on one of the commandeered horses, and Lon'qu had felt her shaking behind him. He had ordered her to stay still lest she spook the horse. She had complied.

* * *

Though he had not seen it, Lon'qu had heard her crying late at night. She had gone to seek solace with Frederick, and he had heard them through the open door. The knight was doing his best to soothe her with gentle words, and it seemed to help, but the little girl in his arms was just that, and she was frightened. Lon'qu pretended to hear nothing, and in the morning, that particular set of tears had dried. He felt the first pangs of the emotion he learned to recognize as guilt.

* * *

Lissa had cried once again when Chrom woke up. These tears were of a different nature; she was joyous and hopeful, smiling even as the tears ran down her face. Her brother had recognized her and called her by name. No one had anticipated so speedy a recovery, even if he had been delirious and unable to so much as slurp gruel and sleep for the past few days. Lon'qu had stood outside the door while she cried until Frederick kindly asked her to give her brother some space. At the very least, Lon'qu had been there outside the door, but the tears had abated for the moment. In that moment, Lon'qu realized that Lissa was fully capable of moderating her tears; she had just felt comfortable enough around him to let them out in full force.

* * *

Her crying resumed briefly when they reached the outermost wall of the fortress. Lissa had wanted to see the sun; she had looked at the skies and wept. The Exalt's name and Chrom's name had fallen rapidly from her lips as she oscillated between grief and delight, unable to reconcile a loss and a triumph within such a short period of time. Lon'qu had wanted to do something to help. He knew not what, though, and so he did what he knew: he ignored her. Eventually, the tears stopped falling.

* * *

Then she'd found a potato patch, and it had all gone downhill from there.

There was no helping it now, he supposed. He had grown attached. As Lissa stood before him, her hands covering her face, he decided that he could at the very least try.

He reached out with both hands and pulled the little girl towards him, his movements jerky and uncertain. He let his arms meet behind her, his hands resting comfortably at his elbows. The child was _tiny_.

"Do not weep."

"Lon'qu… I don't know what to do," Lissa said softly. "Chrom's going to be all right, and Frederick's going to take care of us, but Emm isn't…" She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "I want to be happy, but I feel like I can't. I'm afraid of everything right now."

"I cannot pretend to be what I am not," he said. "But I can swear to you that I shall never harm you. I will protect you from all that I can." The little girl looked up at him. "That is my promise to you."

"I don't want anyone else to die." She squeezed him tightly. "I'm afraid of death. I want to go home. I wish this had never happened."

Lon'qu hesitated before releasing one hand to stroke the back of her head, tracing a strand of hair. "I wish that for you, too."

They stood like that for a long time, Lissa resting her head against his torso, Lon'qu anchoring her in place to keep her from falling over. Eventually, they returned to the outer courtyard, the swordsman carrying both staff and princess. Lon'qu rationalized it all, telling himself that it made sense to wait in one place so that if Frederick came looking for them, as he invariably would as the time for the army's assembly approached, they could easily be located. He knew better, though. If it was what Lissa wanted to do right now, then damn it all, why not. The potatoes could wait. Lon'qu could — and would — protect her if anything went wrong.


	13. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lissa has thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back. I apologize for putting out such a short chapter, but I've been working on bits and pieces of it for so long that I just wanted to be done with it. I've been drowning in midterms for a couple of weeks, hence my relative inactivity. I can't promise that my next update will be much sooner, but I'll do my best. For now, I'm still in need of a beta reader, so anyone interested in lending a hand would be welcome. Usual disclaimers apply; please enjoy!

"Oh, Frederick! You brought Chrom!"

Lissa laughed and smiled. For the first time in days, she felt like she meant it.

Her eyes lighted on her brother, and suddenly the gesture became strained. He was still very, very sick. His arm was slung over Frederick's shoulder, and the knight was more or less carrying her brother along like royal baggage.

Even if the smile hung heavy on her face, Lissa didn't let it drop. Chrom had to see that there was still hope.

"How'd you find us out here?" Lissa asked, skipping up to the pair. Behind her, she heard a soft _swish_ that she'd learned over time to identify as Lon'qu moving around. She knew, based on the sounds, what he was doing at any given time. At the moment, he had decided to hang back and let the Ylissean regiment talk. He was, Lissa had noticed, not so fond of Frederick. That would have to change. They all needed to work together if they were going to get through this — even if it meant putting up false fronts and faking civility to make it happen.

"Lady Lissa, you've never been one to stay indoors," Frederick quipped, shrugging off Chrom's weight. Lissa tried hard not to notice how her brother stumbled slightly as he attempted to gain footing. She averted her eyes when he gave up altogether, opting to lean on Frederick. The knight, for his part, merely kept smiling and gave no indication that anything was amiss. 

Lissa had never learned that trick, to smile through sadness and pain. It struck her as too false: whatever emotions she felt, she felt. Hiding was silly. Now, though it seemed as good of a time to start learning how to fake it, if only for Chrom's sake. He looked as if he were in agony. He probably was.

"Besides that, the weather is fine today. Few would choose to remain indoors."

Lissa nodded. "That's what I said! We haven't seen the sun for days." She paused, and sensing that, as always, the weather was a dead-end conversation, she said, "But wait! We found something you'll want to see!" The princess grabbed at Chrom's hand, making sure to steady him even as she put up the pretense of pulling him along. "Come on, come on! Lon'qu, let's show them what we found!"

The swordsman's surly expression was enough to put anyone down, but Lissa had seen enough of it to be immune to its effects. "It's not important," he said.

"Aw, come _on_! Just a few minutes ago, you were saying that we had to tell Frederick and Chrom right away!" A few minutes ago, she had also been crying in his arms. Lissa wasn't sure how to process that right now, and the thought made her ears burn, so she decided to think about it later. "It's important, you said so!"

"Fine," Lon'qu relented. Lissa smiled at him in gratitude. She'd noticed that he'd been less contrary toward her. Of course, she had some new thoughts about why. But, once again, she wasn't thinking about it. Not right now. There would be time later.

Lissa pulled Chrom over to the newly discovered potato patch. Frederick followed just a pace behind, and Lon'qu made up the rear.

"Look! See, potatoes!" Lissa pointed and hopped up and down, though she soon stopped: Chrom couldn't handle being shaken that much.

"Um?" he questioned. "Lissa, what's this about?"

"Potatoes," Lon'qu and Lissa said, more or less simultaneously. Lissa giggled.

Chrom wasn't getting it. Neither was Lissa, but he didn't have to know that, did he? "What?"

"Potatoes. I see," Frederick said. His eyes were narrowed to slits. Whatever it was, Lissa thought, Frederick knew, and what he knew he didn't like. It didn't bode well. Lon'qu made a noise of approval. "Have you looked at any of them?"

Lon'qu showed Frederick the one he'd pulled up. "Still young, then," Frederick said. "These would need a great deal of care."

"I still don't get it," Chrom said. "What's the big deal with potatoes? Isn't any food good food at this point?" This was Lissa's logic, too, but both Frederick and Lon'qu were shaking their heads no.

"Milord, this is serious. We need to post sentries — no, the entire army needs a rallying, and we need it now."

"Why?"

"Potatoes, milord. Potatoes."

* * *

So the potatoes were a bad sign. A _very_ bad sign. Lissa gathered that much from the meeting of the khans and the rest of the leaders of the army — it was getting crowded in the war room. Too crowded for her to remain for any length of time. She'd stayed until she'd heard the explanation of the potatoes and quickly dismissed herself. She hadn't even needed to give a reason; Chrom didn't want her in there anyway.

What she'd heard bothered her, though. It seemed that the fortress, far from being abandoned, had been lived in not long ago. Potatoes needed a great deal of care to grow, Frederick said. They needed constant attention, particularly during this season. The only caregivers the potatoes could potentially have out here were Plegians, and among those, only the militant kind would be holed up in a fortress in the middle of nowhere during a war.

Lissa clicked her heels against the stone as she walked, bouncing up and down with each step until she reached her room. There, she firmly closed the door and sagged against it.

It was all too complicated. Her life had gotten too sad, too strange, and she didn't know what to do.

First and foremost, of course, there was Emmeryn. She could not dwell on her older sister without coming to tears. She had gone through oscillations over the past few days, periods of her usual happiness studded with ones during which she could not speak or even so much as breathe through the tears. She would not, she told herself, do that today. Today she needed to be strong.

There was Chrom. Chrom, who seemed so out of sorts, so thrown by events. Lissa had thought her brother unshakable; now she was seeing a different side. She didn't like it. She wanted to prop him up, to support him as best as she could. That was why, she reminded herself, she could not cry. She would smile brightly, like she always did, and he would know that everything would be all right.

There was Frederick. Frederick the wary, the ever-present, the reliable, the brave. There was no positive characteristic that could not be ascribed to him — not one, anyway, that Lissa knew about. He just worked too hard. She wished he wouldn't; she had a vague idea that he might be even happier if he learned to relax.

Last, of course, there was Lon'qu. That's where things started to get complicated. Well, if she were being honest with herself, she would admit that things got complicated where Frederick was involved, too. But the thing with Lon'qu — that's what she'd started terming their embrace, short-lived as it was — was certainly complicated. He hated women — no, that wasn't right, either. He feared women. That was her understanding of it, anyway. He thought that he could not protect women, or something like that: she'd heard snippets of conversations, and she thought she'd heard something said in the ravines, but it was all unclear.

Lissa held her head in her hands. It should be illegal, she decided, for relationships to be so complicated. Her ears reddened further at her own word choice. For _friendships_ to be so complicated. Relationships implied other things. She was fourteen and they were all at war; there was no time for anything like that. Lissa wasn't thinking about it at all.

In fact, Lissa was thinking about nothing whatsoever when she heard a knock on her door.

"Who is it?" Lissa called in a sing-song voice. She heard a startled noise and a scramble as the knocker ran from the door. Lissa frowned and opened it. The hallway was deserted in both directions.

"Hello?" Lissa asked. The empty hallway did not reply. "Huh. Weird." She shut the door again. She had kind of wished that someone had been there; she wanted another distraction from her thoughts.

* * *

That evening, the army, or, at least, the tiny Ylissean portion of it, was getting together for a debriefing. Lissa had seen neither Frederick nor Chrom since the potato talk in the war room, so she had no idea whether she was supposed to be there or not, but she figured she ought to come out anyway. Chrom needed all of the support he could get.

For now, though, dinner was her first priority. She followed a short hallway and was about to turn to the corner to the makeshift mess when she heard footsteps scrambling. Lissa stopped, and for a moment, she was able to make out a few distinctive heel clicks as someone ran away.

Lissa frowned, then called, "Maribelle?"

There was no response.

Lissa had a feeling that she knew what was going on, and she felt horrible about it. She scanned the mess hall for any signs of a pink-clad noblewoman, but she saw no one who matched the description. 

She settled for eating with Sumia and Miriel acting as if the meticulous details of Pegasi digestive tracts were the most interesting thing in the world.

* * *

Lissa was going to give up trying to find her friend when, quite suddenly, she collided with her. They banged their heads, and Lissa let out a yell. Maribelle, quite unladylike, cursed.

"Oh!" she cried. "My treasure--! I-I've hurt you!" Lissa stood up and opened her mouth, but Maribelle was clutching at her own hair. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_! No wonder she doesn't like you, you're a stupid, useless--"

"Maribelle?"

"--insufferable wretch of a human being who will never be good enough and should just go away!"

"MARIBELLE!"

The other girl looked up at her. "Lissa…" She took a deep breath. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Maribelle?"

"You must think me the worst friend in the world, and you'd be right. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Lissa rubbed the back of her head. "Maribelle? Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing." She took a breath. "I'm sorry for being such a jerk. I've just been tired, and--"

"No! It's all my fault! I couldn't help you, and I couldn't be there for you, and--"

"Maribelle--"

"Lissa, dear--"

"Enough!" Lissa shouted. Maribelle was on the verge of tears. "Er, I didn't mean to yell. Oh, don't cry!" Lissa pulled Maribelle toward her to prevent the other girl from running away again. Maribelle cried like a true lady, without making a noise. Occasionally, though, she sniffed. Lissa never wanted to let go.

"Maribelle," she started again, "I've been looking for you. I wanted to apologize. Just hear me out, OK? I've been a pretty bad friend lately. I haven't really been OK. Can you forgive me for that?"

Maribelle looked up at her. "Lissa, you have no reason to apologize! It was I who has been horrible!"

"Stop it."

"But--"

"Stop. Please."

"Lissa…" Maribelle closed her eyes. "I've missed you."

Lissa felt Maribelle's arms wrap around her waist. "I've missed you, too."


	14. Underground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chrom is a little loopy, and things are strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I think I turned this out in record time, and for once (because of spoilers) there are endnotes! Hurray! Really, though, even though it's only been a few days after the last update, I wanted to slap this up here because I've got time and energy I know I won't have come Sunday. At any rate, while I'm still in need of a beta reader, I'm still trudging along. If you know anyone who might be interested, please let me know!  
> Usual disclaimers apply, yadda yadda yadda; enjoy!

Chrom decided that "conflicted" was a good word for the entire state of affairs. It had, he mused, so many applications. Some of those applications may well have been the result of his current delirium — he knew that he was _off_ ; just not how _off_ he was — but, he supposed, it didn't really matter. The word "conflicted" fit.

To start off with, he was conflicted. And confused. Confused was another good word. Chrom thought that was funny that all of the good words started with a "C". His name was, of course, no exception. The letter "C" should be knighted.

At any rate, he was conflicted. If only he could keep his head — a sudden panic washed over him, and he checked to make sure that his head was indeed still present. It was.

If only he could keep his head, he could be in control of the army and of his affairs. He didn't like relegating tasks, he decided. He wanted to do them all himself. He pouted; he hadn't been able to do any of his usual duties lately. Injuries were not fun.

Then, of course, there was the _conflict_. Chrom chortled to himself — another good "C" word, chortled. The _conflict_ was _conflicted_. Really, it was. The Plegian platoon was causing quite a stir outside. Chrom leaned against the wall upon which Frederick had propped him. They were shaking the walls with all of the commotion.

Conflict, confusion, Chrom, chortling, commotion — they were all about him, weren't, they? All of those "C" words, they all circled back on him. He made the sound he dubbed a "chortle" again: everything circled back on Chrom, Chrom was a circle, thoughts were circular, circles.

The part of his brain that was still sane told him that he was mad and needed a swift blow to the head, or else a skilled healer, and soon.

The rest of his brain replied, but what does sane mean? They were fighting over potatoes. At least, that was Chrom's hazy understanding of things at the moment.

The sane part reminded him that, no, that wasn't quite right.

The rest of his brain wasn't having any of it and quashed the sane rebellion, running rampant with thoughts of the letter "C" and murderous potatoes.

* * *

There was pain and light, and someone was screaming loud enough to rouse the dead. Chrom blinked against the light and wondered briefly if he _had_ died. His head hurt. If this was what the afterlife felt like, he wanted to be resurrected.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know." He knew that voice. "Also, I don't think that I ever laid in a pool of my own drool. This is ridiculous." Chrom's eyes gradually focused enough to make out the form of Robin, but he had to squint to see anything at all. The room seemed inundated with light. "There you are. Now get up. Can you stand?"

Chrom stretched out a hand. His muscles felt stiff, and he soon discovered why: he was laying on the hard stone floor of the fortress, draped awkwardly over Falchion, which thankfully rest in its sheath. An arm too strong to be Robin's pulled him up, and Chrom found himself face to face with Frederick.

"Please don't hit me again." His speech was an awkward slur.

"I wasn't planning on it, milord."

The knight smiled, and Chrom didn't believe him. Frederick looked backwards; Chrom could see Lissa standing in the doorway. "Milady, he is awake. He is quite out of sorts."

"I am not," Chrom protested as Lissa entered the room. Her face, Chrom noticed, was red.

Robin made a disparaging noise. "And I'm the heir to the Plegian throne. When Khan Basilio sent a Feroxi to come find you when you failed to make it to the battlefield, you gave her quite a fright. Apparently, you were raving about the benefits of the letter 'C' while waving around a vial of poison. She was so frantic she had to lie down in another. room."

"It's a great letter," Chrom mumbled. "And a villa of what?"

"He's not well," Frederick said pointedly.

"That's what this is for," Lissa said, toting her staff. "Now, hold still." She was chanting words in that magical language that had always separated him from Lissa and Emmeryn — _Emmeryn_ — and he felt a coolness wash over his mind. His thoughts slowed to what he thought was a sluggish pace, before he realized that in fact it was perfectly normal. Before, his brain had been racing.

He grimaced. For a short time, he was sure, he had been insane.

"Thanks Lissa. All better."

"No way," Robin said with a grimace. "You don't look so good."

Lissa pulled a face. "Look so good? He doesn't _smell_ so good."

"I'm fine," Chrom protested. He tried to pull away from Lissa and promptly fell on his face. He grimaced against the stone floor. This was getting old.

"Up you go, milord."

Leave it to Frederick to pick up after him yet again. Chrom's face flushed. He was well and truly useless. He didn't know a damn thing about anything useful, like potatoes, to say nothing of keeping himself upright. He was beginning to see why most people considered nobles superfluous. "You called me a vile _what_?" he asked to break the silence.

"Vial, with an 'A': a vial of poison. You need to get your ears checked," Robin said with a smile. The gesture soon disappeared, and the strategist gestured at a smattering of colored broken glass on the floor nearby. "I know our cause is pretty bleak, but I thought…" The strategist trailed off, unable to finish. Chrom's eyes widened at the suggestion.

"NO!" he yelled. The vocalization had him coughing. "Er, no. That's no poison, that's medicine."

Lissa nodded. "Libra helped me synthesize a potion to speed Chrom's recovery," she said. "I put it in that this morning." She grinned. "I thought the blue vial matched Chrom's eyes."

"Be that as it may," Robin replied, "you can smell it for yourself. Something happened to it between then and now, because that's not medicine."

Frederick propped Chrom against the wall and approached the remains of the vial. He sniffed and recoiled.

"Smells like peppers," he remarked as he stood.

"What does that mean?" Chrom asked. He was feeling substantially better, but his eyes refused to adjust to the light of the room.

The knight smiled wryly. "It's a good thing the battle ended when it did, milord. It's not potatoes, but it is close."

"What?" Lissa looked dumbfounded. Chrom didn't blame her. If anything else amounted to potatoes, he was never going to be able to eat another root vegetable again.

"Exactly," Robin confirmed. "Isn't it strange?"

"I'm lost," Chrom admitted. "Will someone please explain?"

"It's an extract from a plant closely related to potatoes, milord," Frederick explained. "Someone tried to poison you."

" _Tried_?"

Frederick grimaced. "Succeeded. My apologies, milord; I should have found you sooner."

"No, there was a battle to be fought, and you fought it and won. There is nothing in this war more important than bringing the Mad King of Plegia down. But, how did they get in?"

"I've got the answer to that."

Chrom nearly jumped out of his skin. His face flamed up again -- he hoped this wouldn't become a common occurrence -- as he spun to face Khan Flavia.

She laughed in his face. "Oh, your face is priceless! The oaf bet me I couldn't sneak up on you. Bad timing or not, it's worth it."

"Just Chrom?" Lissa questioned. "Even _I_ didn't see you!"

"Lissa, that's not saying much."

"Listen," Khan Flavia interrupted, "we found something you might want to see." To Chrom, she said, "And you for one better sharpen your axe, boy. Morale will crumble if the men see you as the pile of slush you are right now. No warrior worth his salt falls to poison."

"Sharpen my-- Oh, never mind," Chrom said. "What did you find?"

* * *

"That."

"Well."

"Talk about unexpected."

Lissa stomped her foot against the dirt. "What's the big idea? This is great!"

"Little lady, that's not exactly how I'd describe this," Khan Flavia said.

"Agreed, milady. This is bad."

"Dangerous," Robin added.

"But look at all of this stuff!" Lissa said. "We need this!"

Lissa gestured all around them, and Chrom had to admit, he saw her point. Khan Flavia had taken them to a storage area adjacent to Chrom's room and shown them an incredibly well concealed trap door. It led to a series of tunnels below the fortress. It was impossible to determine, at the moment, how far they went, but they branched off in nearly any direction. What made it remarkable, though, was less the tunnels themselves but more their contents: they were stocked with weapons, preserved food, and supplies as far as the eye could see in the dark.

"It's a miracle the fortress is stable," Frederick remarked. "This should have brought down the foundations not long after it was built. Milord, we should leave at once."

"That's what the runes are for, fool."

Chrom wasn't the only one who spun. Lissa actually shrieked. She was difficult to see in the dark of the tunnels, but, there, right up agains the wall—

"Tharja?" Chrom's tongue tried to wrap around the syllables of her name and failed. It was as slippery as she was. "Am I saying that right?"

"Pretty much." Her scowl told him he was off. "So, you found them. I was wondering when you'd get here."

Khan Flavia had drawn her sword. "Hold a moment! You, Plegian! Who are you?"

"That's not nice," Tharja drawled. "And here I am supporting your army, and how do you repay me? I've got a hex for that."

"What?"

"It's true, Khan Flavia. She joined our side before my sister…fell," Chrom said.

"It was a pretty fall, too."

"Hold you tongue!" Frederick snapped.

"Peace, Frederick," Chrom pleaded. "Now's not the time." Tharja was watching him as if she didn't know whether to bolt or stay. "Please," he said, "what can you tell me about this?"

Tharja looked all around. "This? It's one of Plegia's best kept secrets. The tunnels extend miles in every direction. They emerge in every fortress within Plegian borders. Hunting and scavenging is too hard for an army, and we're usually at war with someone, even if it's only ourselves; we keep enough preserved food and supplies down here just in case."

"How do you know this if it's a secret?" Lissa questioned.

Tharja laughed. It echoed menacingly throughout the tunnels. "You really think they can keep me out of the loop? I doubt there's anything I _don't_ know about the kingdom right now. Besides, it's not like they can keep these a secret from the soldiers, can they? Otherwise the tunnels would be useless."

"Why didn't you bother sharing this information earlier?" Frederick demanded.

The dark mage pushed back a lock of hair. "I don't believe in sharing, and you never asked."

"Why you—"

"Frederick!" Robin pulled on Frederick's arm. The knight looked as if he wanted nothing more than to snap the Plegian woman in two. He was practically foaming at the mouth.

"Release my arm before I hurt you," Frederick warned. "This woman claims to know everything about the current goings-on in Plegia and she says nothing? She probably knew of the poisoning!"

Tharja's eyes were slits. "You hurt Robin and you die. Painfully." She was holding something behind her back, and Chrom had no desire to learn what it was.

"Frederick, stand down. That's an order." He watched the knight until he stood back. Robin was whispering something that had him nodding, but Chrom couldn't hear. For now, all he knew was that he had to keep Tharja talking and sedate. The last thing the army needed was a turncoat.

"Tharja, what did you know about this?" he asked softly.

She tilted her head in thought. "I do remember hearing something about a poisoning. I thought she was the target, though." She gestured at Lissa. Chrom turned to see that his sister's face had gone pale. "Someone must have fumbled."

"M-me?" she whimpered.

"Yeah, you. I meant to talk to you, but based on body language alone your bodyguard would have rather seen me dead than at your side. Looks like a common theme today." She scowled again, the gesture fading to a sinister grin. "I did think of a nice retribution gift for him, though…"

"Enough!" Robin said again. "Tharja, what's going on here? Who's side are you on?"

Tharja's face contorted again. "Why, Robin… Your's, of course." The dark mage had crossed the room somehow and was pressed up against the strategist in what Chrom could only describe without resorting to graphic means as an uncomfortable sort of way. "I think right here's about where I want to be."

"Er, Tharja, that's…" Robin's face was flushed. The strategist tried to take a step back, but Tharja was right there. "That's… _nice_."

"Isn't it, though?" Tharja purred.

"This is getting ridiculous," Chrom said. "Listen, Tharja, we need your help."

"Of course you do," she chastised. "You won't get anywhere without me."

"Then help us," Robin pleaded. The tactician's voice was shaking, and Chrom couldn't tell if it was because of the invasion of personal space or the fear that the dark mage just might be more murderous than amorous. "Please."

Tharja took a step back. She looked like a cat that had just caught a mouse. "All right," she said. "Let's talk."

* * *

Chrom spent the remainder of the day listening. He hadn't spoken to Tharja since he'd recruited her, given all of the things that had transpired between now and then, but he found that using Robin as bait, as inhumane as it seemed, was the only way to get her to divulge anything. The moment Robin stepped out of the room, the dark mage clammed up. Only when the strategist was present could anyone get a word out of her.

What they got, though, was gold. Maybe even more valuable than gold. Chrom couldn't decide. Tharja, it seemed, was incredibly self-conscious; that was the only reason Chrom could think of as to why she would have woven spells to listen in on so many Plegian officers at once. They worked even at a distance, which was why she still knew all there was to know about the Plegian movements.

Based on what she'd heard, the Mad King himself had mobilized the entirety of the army. They were planning on using the tunnels to reach one of the southern fortresses, then to march the rest of the way across the plains. It was meant to be a sort of ambush: Gangrel expected Chrom to turn south and resume fighting as soon as his army was regrouped, and he intended to squash them on the way down. Lissa's poisoning was meant to be the galvanizing factor: if both sisters were seen to die, one of unexplainable causes, Chrom was expected to rush into the fray in a mad frenzy. The platoon that had arrived today, far ahead of the main army, was meant to put a fire to the kindling.

Grimly, Chrom thought, that's exactly what he would have done, had such a thing transpired: he would have rushed south to end things once and for all, tactics be damned. He had proved it once with Emmeryn: he would have done the exact same a second time. He probably wouldn't have been so lucky, either.

This time, though, he was ready. For the better, he thought, he'd been the one poisoned, and he'd survived. They had information, and they had, based on Tharja's estimations, a little bit of time. They could pull through this.

* * *

That evening, the sun was an orange blob on the horizon by the time Chrom could finally retire to his quarters. Lissa had insisted on checking him over every which way, and, curiously enough, had brought Maribelle along to help her. Chrom had heard from Frederick that the women had been at odds with each other of late, though he'd been hard-pressed to say why.

Whatever the case might have been, the tide had turned. They appeared as close as they'd ever been, though Maribelle had seemed unusually embarrassed. The haughty noblewoman was about as pink as her shirt when she checked him for any signs of internal injuries.

Chrom stretched as he looked out over the Plegian plains. The Mad King meant to break him: first his soul, with his family, then his body, on the battlefield. Chrom couldn't let that happen. He had to be stronger than that.

He lowered his eyes to the stone ledge. That, though, was unreasonable. If anything were to happen to Lissa, he _would_ break. _To be a noble is to be in danger_ , he reminded himself. That had been his logic in getting her a bodyguard.

Something Tharja had said earlier resurfaced in his mind. _I meant to talk to you, but based on body language alone your bodyguard would have rather seen me dead than at your side._ Chrom didn't think she'd been talking about Frederick. He'd relieved Lon'qu from his duties, though. There was no reason for the Feroxi to continue to look out for Lissa in particular.

Chrom pursed his lips. Well, there was a thought. He turned away from the window, wondering just how much he'd missed while incapacitated. If his guesses were right, he needed a ward against all sicknesses, madnesses, and other ailments for the rest of his life.

For now, though, he had questions that needed answering, and there was only one man for the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm well aware that most poisons do not have psychedelic or otherwise mentally stimulating side-effects; in fact, most do the exact opposite. That, of course, begs the question: what sort of "medicine" did Lissa and Libra plan on giving Chrom in the first place?


	15. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frederick is put in several awkward positions and may or may not jump off a cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **I HAVE A BETA READER. I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME FEEL. ALL OF THE FEELS, ALL THE TIME. emutastic** was kind enough to offer to beta this, and it's thanks to her that it's in any kind of shape at all. Once again, I apologize for the delay; it's all my fault, as usual. I'll do better in the future, I promise! In the meantime, I don't own Fire Emblem; Nintendo does, etc. etc. Enjoy!

Frederick had felt a knot in his stomach like this before, under entirely different circumstances: he'd gone out hunting once, without knowing the topography of the region, and found himself on the edge of a short cliff. He was running so fast that momentum alone carried him to the edge. Though he wobbled desperately in an attempt to regain balance, Frederick had teetered the wrong way and tumbled down the crag. He'd been around Lady Lissa's age when he'd made that mistake. The moment of fear, of the realization that he could not come back from the edge had left him swearing that he would never put himself in such a situation again.

Reasonably, though, he knew he couldn't have predicted this.

" _Please_?"

Lissa's eyes were shining, putting on an act all for him. She was practically bouncing, her body humming with energy. All of this radiance, all of this beauty — but the request!

"No, milady," Frederick restated. "I can do no such thing."

"But _Frederick_ , you promised!"

The knight folded his arms and hoped that he looked tough. He wanted to cave in, but he couldn't. Not this time. "I did indeed, but under different circumstances. Perhaps when we return to Ylisse, we can find you a suitable tutor—"

"But I don't want a suitable tutor, I want _you_!" Lissa demanded, stomping her foot. Frederick gulped. The princess had no idea what she was saying.

Lissa snapped. "Wait, that's it! If I tell Chrom to make you do it, you'll have to! It's perfect!"

She tried to cackle maniacally and failed. She was, Fredrick considered, incapable as coming off as any more evil than an imp.

"Speak of the devil," drawled a voice from the door. "Lissa, what are you on about now?"

Frederick turned his head to see Chrom. The lord appeared exhausted, but it was nothing sleep alone could not fix.

"Milord," he said, bowing his head.

"Chrom! Perfect timing! Make Frederick teach me!"

Chrom arched an eyebrow. "Teach you what? You've never been one for books and lessons, Lissa."

Frederick watched Lissa's mouth as it turned to a soft pout. He too, frowned. He wished he could make her smile without indulging in this request. It was dangerous enough that she was out on the battlefield with them — no, it was dangerous enough that she was involved in this war _at all_ — and he for one would not be the one to make things worse. That's all it would do, he reasoned: give her a false sense of security about abilities she did not have. He could protect her well enough himself anyway.

"Well, yes, but this is different! I want Frederick to teach me how to fight!"

A silence pervaded the room. Frederick could see plainly that Chrom did not know how to react to this news.

"Well?" Lissa demanded. "It's a good idea, right? I'm a moving target; at the very least I could be a _dangerous_ moving target!"

"Lissa…" Chrom started.

"Milord, I must protest the lady's request," Frederick said sharply. The look on Chrom's face as he stared at Lissa could best be described as horrified, and the knight felt he knew why. "I will agree to no such proposition."

"But Frederick!"

Chrom shook his head. "No. Lissa, just… No."

"But—!"

The young lord's eyes were sharp as he said, "None of that, now, sister. Will you excuse Frederick and I for just a moment? We can talk about this later."

Lissa made a face and stomped her foot again. "Fine. But if you don't come find me tonight, you're in for it!"

The princess ran out of the room. Chrom turned to Frederick.

The knight cleared his throat and said, "My apologies, milord. I fear I am to blame for this."

"Frederick?"

"Many months ago, on the Northroad, I promised that I would teach her the basics of frontline fighting. She was…insistent."

Chrom sighed with a smile. "She often is. I thank you, for declining to follow through. If I lose Lissa I…"

"Do not think of it, Milord. It shall not come to pass."

The prince nodded. "I know. Actually, though, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Chrom sank into one of the dusty chairs that adorned the room, raising several puffs of smoky grime. Lissa had cornered Frederick in what appeared to be a sitting room, though it had clearly fallen into disuse under Plegian occupation. Cobwebs hung in what used to be a fireplace — Frederick thought that to put a fire in it would likely burn the fortress down — and a pile of straw in the corner looked suspiciously like a rat's nest. The urge to start cleaning was strong, but Frederick realized, after many moments of silence, that Chrom had come to talk about something that was proving difficult.

The knight's eyes fell on the lord. Maybe it wasn't so important after all. Frederick stood still as he watched Chrom's chest rise and fall – he had fallen in to a deep sleep.

* * *

The most reasonable thing Frederick could think of to do was to carry Chrom back to his room. This proved easier said than done – not only did the lord seem heavier than usual, but Frederick thought that Chrom would not like anyone to see him in this compromised state and so had to avoid everyone else.

Unfortunately, everyone was looking for Chrom.

First – "Hey Chrom!" Vaike shouted as he roamed the halls. "If you've gone to bed already, you're a bleeding ninny! You promised to train with me today and I haven't seen hide nor hair of ya! Come out!" Frederick hid himself and a drooling Chrom around a corner until the hothead warrior passed. While the brawler and the prince were friends of a sort, Frederick doubted Chrom wanted to be woken up by Vaike.

Then – "Prince Chrom?" Libra wrang his hands as he wandered from room to room. "Oh, in Naga's name, I must apologize! If only I hadn't left that potion sitting out…" Libra struck Frederick as a kind soul, but, once again the man (Gods, Frederick was having a hard time with that one) was likely not high on Chrom's list of people he wanted to see.

Just when Frederick had almost gotten Chrom back to his room, he had to hide yet again. His eyes narrowed – Tharja. She wasn't alone, either: Miriel stood beside her with her arms folded. Neither of the women looked happy.

"Where _is_ it?" the dark mage hissed, prodding Miriel.

"You assume incorrectly that I, being one attuned to the magical arts, would know where you left your experiment. You are truly an abysmal practitioner of the scientific method." Miriel adjusted her glasses and scowled.

Tharja scowled right back. "No one said anything about science. I'm talking about dark arts, something you know nothing about. Now, I asked you a simple question—"

"—and I gave you a simple response. This is the fundamental basis of communication, a skill in which I find you sorely lacking. Perhaps, if I ran enough controlled tests, I might be able to locate the source or your inability, but for now I must hypothesize that you are simply an odious human being."

Frederick's eyebrows rose. Was Miriel talking back?

Tharja didn't seem to think so. "Who says I'm human? Maybe I should direct some of my new hexes at _you_ ," she giggled. "We'll see how quick your tongue is when you're choking on your own intestines."

"That would be unimaginably disagreeable. A prodigious hex, to be sure; however, given the description of your latest work, I find it inconceivable that your experiment will be so fortunate as to produce said results."

"I never said my project was about nasty hexes, did I? I wouldn't want to hurt my previous Robin with something as foul as that."

"What's going on down here?"

Robin's head appeared from the other end of the corridor. Miraculously, no one had yet spotted Frederick and Chrom.

"Oh, _Robin_ …"

"Tharja," Robin said. "And…Miriel? Were you two arguing?"

"This objectionable specimen of humanity approached me with the audacious claim that I stole one of her precious projects and threatened me with another," Miriel quipped. "I may be a woman of science, but thievery is one of the last resorts of the scientific method, and I find threats, no matter how credible, incredibly detrimental spirit of the Shepherds."

The strategist paused before asking, "Why would you resort to thievery at all?" Miriel readjusted her glasses with a smile and took her leave, thankfully by way of a corridor that did not pass by Frederick and Chrom. The knight did not think he could look her in the eye.

"Robin, why pay attention to her?" Tharja mumbled. "You like her more than you like me, now?"

Frederick was surprised; Tharja actually looked hurt. As strange and as threatening as Tharja's behavior in the tunnels had seemed, Frederick was coming to some interesting (and, frankly, disturbing) conclusions about her relationship with the strategist. "Can I do anything to fix that?"

"Tharja, that's not— Look, we need to talk. Preferably not alone."

"Ooh, I like when you talk to me. Come on pretty strategist of mine. Let's _talk_."  
Robin's response, which Frederick found fully justified, was to start backing away as Tharja moved forward. Soon, the pair were out of sight, and Frederick left out a breath that he hadn't been holding.

"Let's get you to bed, now, milord," he said softly.

"I've got his feet."

Only a good decade of training kept Frederick from dropping Chrom in shock. Instead, he wheeled around and, recognizing the voice almost a fraction of a second too late, held his body still, his arm poised to strike.

Lon'qu's hands were in the air. "My apologies. I thought you heard me." The swordsman gestured to Chrom's feet.

"Right. Help me get him inside," Frederick said. The swordsman nodded in agreement, and the pair, with Chrom dangling between them, began to move.

It was much easier lifting the lord with two sets of hands. When they finally deposited Chrom on his bed, Lon'qu looked at his hands. "I thought he was lighter."

"He usually is." Frederick looked down at the prince, who instinctively curled into his mattress. He was too vulnerable. If anyone needed training, it was him.

"I wonder…"

"What?" Frederick asked.

Lon'qu pursed his lips. "It was something the girl had," he said. "She said she meant to use it on Chrom. Said something about revenge for not allowing her to train."

"You mean Lissa?" Frederick questioned. Lon'qu nodded. "What happened?"

"She had a staff that she said she had to try. She wouldn't tell me where it came from."

Frederick almost accepted that, then thought to demand, "Why would you ask?"

Lon'qu scowled. "Why wouldn't I?" He paused, then said, "She seemed to treat it with more…care…than she does her own things. As if she were afraid of it."

"And she still used it?" Frederick demanded. "And you let her use it?"

Lon'qu shrugged. "It made her happy."

Frederick's neck popped as he snapped his head to look the swordsman in the eye. "Since when do you care what makes her happy?"

The words came out of Frederick's mouth harsher than he'd intended, but then again, he was feeling a rage that he hadn't expected either. The swordsman folded his arms, and Frederick had the sudden impression that he was facing a stone wall, not unlike the Feroxi border pass.

"You asked me to look after her while you cared for her brother," Lon'qu spoke. "Think about who's getting the job done before you start something."

Frederick took a second to think and realized that this could be the moment. Lon'qu appeared ready to put all of the cards on the table, so to speak. Everything could all come out, right here and now, while Chrom lay sleeping, while the Plegians prepared however many miles away to attack, while no one else could hear—

But the moment was gone as soon as it came, ruined by the very object of it as she came hurtling into the room shrieking.

"Get her away, get her _away_!"

Lissa flew past both Frederick and Lon'qu in her haste. She turned and took a step toward them before opting to hide under the bed. Frederick, for his part, was perfectly confused until he was nearly struck by an orb of dark energy.

"Get back here!" Tharja appeared in the door, covered in sweat and dust. "Where'd she go, the thief? I'll teach you to steal from me—"

"I told you, I didn't steal—"

"LIAR!"

Frederick drew his sword even as he was putting the pieces together. Lon'qu, it seemed had done the same. Tharja had two blades at her throat before she could cast another hex.

She scowled. "Oh. You two."

Lissa's head popped up, and Tharja's face darkened. "Let me through. The kid stole something of mine, and I'll have it back."

"I did not steal anything!" Lissa protested.

Tharja glowered at her, and the princess's head quickly ducked back under the bed. "Yes you did. You used it on your brother, didn't you?" Tharja's eyes drifted to the prince's sleeping body. A wicked smile carved itself across her face. "Oh, and it works, doesn't it? You're about to draw blood and he hasn't even moved. Now, if only it were Robin…"

"You have a rather sick fixation that I hardly find consensual," Frederick commented. He did not move his blade, though he could see that the edge was only a hair's breadth away from slicing through the thin fabric of her collar.

Tharja's grin widened. "Consent is relative when you have hexes." Frederick pushed a little harder on his blade and Tharja relented, taking a step back. "How about we call this one a mistake, then? I want my staff back. I made it; it's mine. I won't hurt the girl, but I _need_ my project back."

"Only if you swear not to use it on anyone other than the enemy," Frederick replied.

The dark witch shrugged. "Everyone's an enemy to me, and I don't make promises I can't keep."

Lissa stood up. "Hold on a second. I'll give it back to you," she said, "but with one condition."

Frederick's eyes went from Lissa to Tharja and back again. He didn't like this.

"Oh?" Tharja asked. "Why should I bargain for something that belongs to me? I should just hex you and be done with it."

Lissa held her head high. "Teach me how to make one for myself and I'll give yours back."

Frederick shook his head. "Milady, you propose a deal with the devil."

"I concur." Lon'qu spoke through gritted teeth. Frederick had paid him no attention since the beginning of the exchange, but what he saw now startled him. While he was not shaking, the swordsman was not standing still: he was almost rocking, his skin flushed with a rage Frederick could not summon for fear of losing control. If something didn't happen, Tharja was going to be run through, and it wouldn't be the knight's fault.

"Better the devil you know," Tharja purred. "Little girl, you have no idea what you're asking for."

Lissa was looking at Frederick. "Maybe I do. Maybe I did." Frederick's heart sank.

"Then you've got yourself a deal."

Lon'qu growled and lunged. Frederick couldn't move fast enough, and Lissa's scream came too late to be effectual. Only Tharja seemed prepared for the assault, and even she couldn't deflect all of it: she received a thin, dripping slice to her cheek.

* * *

The aftermath was horrendous in that there was hardly anything. Tharja just smiled as she wiped the blood from her cheek with her index finger and licked it. Lissa ran back out of the room, crying. Lon'qu allowed the tip of his sword to touch the ground as he stared at it. Chrom rolled over and sighed, still deep in his magically-occasioned sleep.

Tharja was the first to leave after Lissa. "Let's just forget this ever happened, shall we?" she said, speaking over her shoulder. "I _promise_ I won't retaliate. Just don't let it happen again." Frederick had no doubt that she'd stay to her word — so long as they didn't move against her. In her own way, she had them all trapped.

Lon'qu finally lifted his sword arm and wiped the blade clean with his sash. He looked at it critically, then said, "The stain won't come off." He, too, made to leave, but stopped.

"I…"

Frederick watched Lon'qu carefully. The swordsman was laconic, but he was rarely at a loss for words.

"Go to her. Please."

He left without any further explanation. Really, none was necessary. Frederick looked back over his shoulder at Chrom before pulling the door shut. As he walked the halls, he debated how much of these events he ought to relate.

Some things, he thought, did not need to be brought to light; this, though, probably needed to be. Lissa would have said that it was a time for men to prove that they had feelings. He smiled, then sighed. There were very few places Lady Lissa would likely be, but even if she proved difficult to find, he had all night.

* * *

"I thought I might find you out here."

Lissa looked up with puffy eyes as Frederick sat down beside her.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"There is no reason for you to apologize, my princess," Frederick replied. "He wanted to protect you. We all do."

"I don't want to be protected." She had found a stick and was tracing patterns in the dirt that Frederick could not see for the darkness. "I want to help."

"And you do. You're too valuable to be out on the front lines with the rest of us."

"And Chrom isn't?"

Frederick sighed. "If I had my way, he wouldn't be at the front, either. But I am neither a prince nor the leader of this army. I may advise, but your lord brother will do exactly as he wishes."

"Then why can't I?" Lissa asked. "Why am I the only one who has to be stuck in the back?"

Frederick pulled the princess in close to him and gingerly placed an arm around her shoulders. "I read somewhere once that to live without hope is to cease to live altogether," he said softly. "You are our hope. The hope for a better, brighter future."

"But I don't even have the brand—"

"It's not about the brand," Frederick said, shaking his head. "It isn't about royalty or rank. It's about…"

"Frederick?"

The knight felt once more as if he were on the edge of the precipice. There was no turning back, only a face forward tumble into what he feared could only amount to oblivion.

"Love, milady," he said. "It's about love."


	16. Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lon'qu tries to cope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long delay. I've had this finished, but life got in the way, as per usual. I hope people haven't given up - we're so close to the end, and I intend to finish strong!
> 
> As usual, Fire Emblem © Nintendo. Enjoy!

The rain had started again. The grasses outside the fortress rose and fell against the weight of the water. No thunder sounded, but the sky lit up at intervals and wind swept across the plain in ripples. The ground below had turned to mud that swallowed up anything unfortunate enough to rest in one place. The mire tried to take the very boots off of Lon'qu's feet, but he trudged along without taking heed. He was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered to his forehead from the rain, but still he walked on, away from the fortress.

He was going mad. That could be the only reasonable explanation. He was fighting a war he had no business taking part in, protecting a little girl he should never have met. He certainly had no business being upset that he had scared her yet again. As much as he didn't want the little princess to end up hurt, physically or otherwise, through her association with a dark witch, the choice was hers to make and live with. On her head it could be.

In any case, it was not his problem. None of it was his problem. Not at all.

He stopped walking, and the sludge greedily slurped at his feet. The rain produced an uncomfortable kind of cold sensation as it struck him. Lon'qu was acclimated to the cold – the Feroxi snow bit and stung until one's very skin ceased to feel at all. The Plegian rains, though, were incomparable. There was no comfortable numbing sensation, nor was there reprieve. He would have taken the burning earth and the merciless sun of the Plegian dry season to the dismal black rains that pelted him now.

Lon'qu's shoulders sunk. He had hoped that a walk would clear his head. It usually did. Try though he might, though, the problem of Lissa refused to go away.

The princess was a plague. He knew that he was being ridiculous, that none of it was his business. It seemed, though, that she could not be wished away. Lon'qu supposed that nobility was like that, even when they were not even trying. Was she trying? Lon'qu did not believe she wished him ill. Why, then, could she not make herself scarce?

The sky lit up again, and Lon'qu diverted his attention upwards. A storm might be interesting — but the flashes did not resemble any natural lightning. A chill went up Lon'qu's arms and he thought to turn back to the fortress. He waited, and the sky flashed again. The light originated from one of the upper towers of the fortress. He twisted his mouth; he knew what was happening.

With nowhere else to go and the threat of sickness of he stayed out any longer, Lon'qu started the long, painful walk back.

* * *

Lon'qu walked the halls alone; none of Chrom's Shepherds seemed to be awake. Lon'qu thought he heard a distinctly Feroxi laugh down a corridor, but it led away from the path to his quarters and so he did not investigate. The lack of people bothered him. Someone should have been doing the rounds. His left hand traced the embossed patterns of the rough shagreen grip of the sword at his side. He thought that there ought to be _someone_ —

She appeared out of nowhere, lurking just outside the door to his designated quarters. Lon'qu stopped, scowling. His right hand moved across his body on instinct.

"Easy, there," Tharja said. "Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt."

Lon'qu didn't agree. "Step aside."

"Just a second," she said. "Robin told me to find you. We march at dawn, so be ready."

"Is that it?"

"Pretty much," Tharja said. "You weren't at the meeting."

"Right." Lon'qu stood where he was, willing Tharja to move. The dark witch rolled her eyes and moved away from the door.

"You know," she said, "your girlfriend's got guts. I like her."

Lon'qu's scowl deepened, and he turned to face her. "I do not have a girlfriend, witch, and I pity whomever you determine is worthy of your attentions."

The sorcerer's giggle disgusted him. "Oh, that's not very nice. I knew you didn't like me, but even to a girl like me that's just cold."

Lon'qu eased the blade from the scabbard at his side. His patience was thin.

"Touchy, touchy," Tharja said, stepping back. "Robin asked me to play nice with you, you know. That's the only reason why you're not dead." She smiled thinly. "In fact, if you ask me nicely, I might be willing to lend you a little hand."

"What are you talking about?"

"Little Lissa, so in love," she said, her voice disgustingly sweet, "but with whom? Not with you, I'll wager." Tharja's smile widened. "But affections are fickle. Anything can change."

"Be silent," he said. "You will do nothing to that girl."

"Won't I?" she asked. "What are you going to do? Oh, maybe it's just that you'd rather have me hex you instead. It is always so nice to have willing vict— volunteers."

"You will do nothing, so long as you feel like living," Lon'qu replied.

Tharja's smile refused to disappear.

"I'd say someone's got feelings. Too bad. They're nothing but trouble." She sighed. "Oh well. I suppose Robin wouldn't want me hexing Miss Pretty Princess anyway," she drawled. "Everyone's always so defensive about nobles, and there's nothing special about them. They die just like the rest of us, and they're so much fun when they squeal.

"But maybe that's it. I'll just focus on Mr. Fanatical Fitness. It's a little more direct of revenge than I usually take part in — and cleaner, too, because killing royals always has consequences — wouldn't you say?"

Lon'qu took a deep breath. "I'm no accomplice to your deeds. Leave me out of them and in peace."

Tharja shrugged. "Fine, be that way. I'd wish you good dreams, but I can't guarantee it without a hex." She left, muttering to herself.

Lon'qu wanted her leave before he checked his room. No signs that she had been inside or done anything untoward. His right hand was shaking, though. So much for composure.

Then, for the first time in weeks, Lon'qu did not do the rounds. He bolted the door to his designated quarters and endeavored to sleep. He turned his back to the window, ignoring the sporadic flashes of light that periodically illuminated the sky. Tharja certainly made tracks. She must have used some foul means to get back to the tower so quickly.

He shut his eyes. Not his problem.

* * *

Just as Tharja told him, the army began to march at the break of day. However, as Lon'qu was helping several Feroxi soldiers saddle their horses, unacquainted as they were with the beasts, he realized something odd: the army appeared to be marching in the wrong direction.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Lon'qu looked to Khan Basilio and inclined his head in deference. There was a man Lon'qu respected.

"We're continuing north? Why do we flee from Plegia so soon?" Lon'qu questioned.

"Robin's got some funny ideas in that head, but I promise you, all this rain hasn't turned our strategist's brain to mush. The plan's solid." Khan Basilio laughed effortlessly. "Don't worry, you'll be reaping Plegian corpses soon enough!"

Lon'qu didn't ask for details, nor did he care to receive them. Khan Basilio still thought of him as the go-to man for the battlefield. That was good. Nothing important in Lon'qu's life had changed. He wanted to go beyond that one day, perhaps to challenge the Khan himself—

But that was for some other day. Lon'qu mounted one of the horses. It had been left without a rider before because it had a surly attitude and a fiery streak. It was growing on the swordsman. He guided the beast out into the torrential rain and joined the army caravan, marching to the north.

* * *

The Feroxi-Ylissean army made it as far as the midlands of Plegia without incident. Though it rained ceaselessly for the first few days, the rainy "season" as Khan Basilio had termed it ended not long after it began.

"We'll have an easier time of it," the Khan said, "now that the blasted rain has gone. We couldn't have prayed for better luck." Lon'qu didn't think that the changing weather could reflect at all upon the army's collective luck, but he kept those thoughts to himself. He kept a good deal to himself now.

The army had been briefed several times over on the state of affairs. Lon'qu was now well acquainted with the fact that the Plegian wastelands were not as empty as they seemed: tunnels below stretched for miles on end, connecting the entirety of the nation via military outposts. Apparently, Khan Flavia had made the discovery when searching for good grog in the storeroom of the fortress they had just left, only to stumble over a rug that had concealed one of the trapdoors leading underground. Most likely, that's how the assassins in the village not so long ago had been able to get so close without attracting the notice of the army.

Lon'qu put it out of his mind. Still not his problem.

The tunnels, though, made things interesting. According to Tharja's inside information, the Mad King's army intended to stalk Chrom's forces underground, coming on them fast and hard when they least expected it. Ideally, the Plegians wanted to fake a siege, then attack with the real force from within. The dark witch informed them that the Plegian army would have done so much sooner, but Gangrel had not counted on them finding the fortress, and only a small scouting force, too small to enact the plan, had been able to make it there in time.

That had been the battle the princess's brother had missed, Lon'qu remembered. Lonqu had heard that the lord had lost his wits. The noble was certainly becoming a burden.

According to Robin's maps, there was a trio of fortresses practically within arm's reach of one another, in Plegia's midlands. A fourth was at a further distance but still visible from any of the three. If they occupied the trio the Mad King's army would attempt to split, one in each of the tunnels leading inside the fortresses.

However, if the army could stop up the tunnels, or perhaps only block the entrances, the Plegian army would be forced out into the open and Chrom's Shepherds together with the warriors of Ferox could have a fair fight on the plains with the advantage of the fortresses to fall back on if the battle turned sour. In addition, because of the split nature of the tunnels, the army would like as not only face one wave of Plegians at a time, greatly improving the odds of success. Lon'qu thought that, as plans went, it was as good as it could get.

To make it work, there needed to be three separate forces, one in each fortress. Prince Chrom and Khans Basilio and Flavia divided the command between them, picking squads as equitably as possible. Chrom took the Shepherds and some of the Ylissean battalion, Khan Basilio took a joint Feroxi-Ylissean division, and Khan Flavia commanded the rest of the Feroxi army. Lon'qu considered asking Khan Basilio to be switched to his command in private, but he held his tongue and followed Prince Chrom when the time came.

Orders were orders, and this time they were coming from the top.

* * *

The Plegian plains were silent. Each of the three divisions had plenty in the way of resources, for they raided the tunnels below for foodstuffs and supplies before fortifying the entrances, but none were inclined to celebrate. No one knew quite when the Plegian forces would arrive but they knew that, though Robin's strategy would help lessen the blow, the battle would be fierce still. There was a long fight ahead.

Lon'qu sharpened one of his blades at a grindstone at one of the fortress's lower levels. He worked the pedals so that the stone wheel spun quickly, and he worked the blade nearly as fast to keep a level edge. He turned often, honing both sides each edge of the blade. He wanted the finished product to cut through bones.

Though his attention was focused completely on the work before him, he was aware of the sound on the stairs. Someone in full armor from the sounds of it, was descending and at no great of a pace. If Lon'qu had to guess the walker meant to be heard. No enemy then, and someone of good common sense: disrupting someone working a grindstone generally entailed some lost limbs afterward. Lon'qu stood off the pedals and admired the blade as the walker came to the bottom of the stairs. The swordsman wiped the newly sharpened edges on his sash, careful not to tear the fabric.

"I hope I haven't disrupted your work," Frederick said with a short incline of the head. "One of the sentries told me that I might find you down here."

"Is there something you need?" Lon'qu questioned.

"I was about to ask you the same," Frederick replied. He looked better than he had in a while. Lon'qu wondered why he had ever pitied such a man, someone who seemed to be better characterized by wrought iron than by flesh and blood.

"Explain."

Frederick cleared his throat. "You've been distant. Aloof. More so than usual. Milord was concerned that something had happened."

"It's nothing. I'm fine." Lon'qu's hands fidgeted for lack of anything to do.

"I've no mind to call a fellow Shepherd a liar, but I cannot help but think that you are not being entirely truthful."

Lon'qu chuckled. "I'm no Shepherd of yours, I'll tell you that. My business is my own. My time here is nearly finished. Now is not the time for niceties."

Frederick's frown was visible even in the darkness. "Milord considers you one of us," the knight said — carefully, Lon'qu thought — and continued, "and therefore so do I, and it is not like the Shepherds to ignore one of their own."

"Are you justifying yourself or chastising me? Because I care to hear neither case."

Frederick's frown deepened. "Be that as it may, it is my duty to ensure that you are well."

"I'm fighting a war I don't care to be a part of with an army that I bear no relation to. I have been guarding a charge that is not my own, and not by my choice. I fail to see how that can qualify as 'well'."

"If you scorn your task of guarding Milady—"

"To hell with it," Lon'qu interrupted. He was so angry, so very _angry_ , and tired of everything. "To hell with it all. I don't grudge her a guardian, I grudge her impertinence and ongoing idiocy. She's a noble and yet she insists on seeking out trouble. This isn't some vacation where she can traipse about like a merchant on holiday; this is a war, and if she's not more careful, she's going to get herself killed."

"I'll thank you to remember that you speak of the Princess of Ylisse, and were your skills not so valuable to the cause, I might have reason to take your words as an assault on the halidom." Lon'qu closed his mouth. Frederick's voice was tight. "Further, Milady takes no more risks than the rest of us," Frederick said. "As you so kindly reminded us, this is war."

"Whose bright idea was it to bring her along? Women don't belong in war."

"No one belongs in war." Frederick's thin smile spoke volumes of his rage. "I must admit, though, I'd be more than happy to see Sully's reaction to this conversation. Perhaps you need someone to put you down a notch or two. Would that I could be such a challenger."

Lon'qu's voice dropped a register. "I do not doubt your prowess, nor your ability to defeat me in single combat," he spoke. He meant it. He had no desire to make an enemy of the fearsome knight. "I simply believe she should not be here. This is no place for royalty, particularly those who cannot bear arms."

"And I would give more to see Lady Maribelle's reaction to that." Frederick's countenance became thoughtful. "As to the matter of Milady, the princess was adamant. I could not sway her from her course."

"So that was her lightning I saw in the towers," Lon'qu said.

"Aye. She's a fast learner."

Lon'qu thought Frederick seemed proud. "And the witch? I take it she meets your standards as a teacher, else you would have smote her where she stood."

Frederick paused, then said, "Oh, no. Milady does not study under the Plegian witch. When I saw that I could not change her mind, I thought to suggest that perhaps Miriel and Ricken might make finer instructors. Milady could not have been more pleased, nor I suppose could Miriel in particular. It was a winning arrangement."

Lon'qu could think of no response. "Good," he said. He did not mean it. Frederick's frown soon returned.

"I ask you to think on matters, and come find me when you think you have something to say," Frederick said finally.

He shifted his feet for many long moments, then said, "Milady asks after you, you know. You would do her a kindness to speak to her from time to time." Frederick hesitated yet again. "I believe she misses your company."

"Does yours not adequately fill the absence?" Lon'qu questioned. It was a dark barb, and he knew it had struck true by the brief hurt expression that skittered across the knight's face. "Her fancies are no longer of my concern. The princess is your charge. See to it that you do your duty."

Lon'qu sheathed his blade, satisfied that the edge was sharp. He left Frederick to blow out the torches, and if he missed the sound of light feet pattering up the stairs — well, he could not have felt much lower than he already did.

* * *

Throughout the time that followed, Lon'qu did his best to avoid everyone – he could not be polite, or even civil. Thankfully for his temper he saw neither Chrom nor Lissa nor Frederick, and when he did, he made sure to bypass each party without saying a word. He doubted he could have contained himself if he had been obliged to engage in conversation with any of them.

Even so, he took up a post as a sentry when he was sent for. He patrolled the walls, one hand resting on his sword, never shifting his eyes from the lone fortress in the distance. Any signs of life, either within or without, and he was to sound the alarms.

It would be any time now; the Plegians must have reached their position. The joint army had made no effort to disguise its movements, nor its resting location. According to Robin's educated guesses there were wyvern patrols that kept watch, and they would report to others who would relay news. Lon'qu himself had not yet seen one of the riders, but many of the Plegians soared at high altitudes. Lon'qu doubted that even he could see so high from the ground.

His watch ended when night began to fall. He had not yet descended back to the depths of the fortress, loathe as he was to go inside when the night air was just beginning to turn fresh and sweet, when to his relief the alarm sounded.

"Lights!" the man called. "Lights in the fortress!"

Lon'qu ran back to the wall as the word spread like wildfire. Indeed, there were flames within the lone fortress, candles that appeared and disappeared rapidly. Whoever was inside was trying to move quickly and without drawing attention.

The sentries alerted Chrom. He in turn began mustering the troops, instructing those with bows to man the ramparts and aim for any riders that dared take the skies. The rest would prepare to march.

As per Robin's plan, the other fortresses were to wait until Robin gave the official signal before charging out — one of the archers was to shoot a flaming arrow on Robin's command when the moment was right. They had been notified of the Plegians already, if they had not seen the lights themselves.

For the moment, though, the army waited, watching for their enemy's next move.

* * *

Nothing happened until morning. Just before dawn, the gates to the lone fortress opened. A Plegian force, clearly too small to be the fully army, marched forward with the Mad King himself at the head. Robin gave the signal, and a flaming arrow hit the skies. Chrom took to the field just as the sun began to peek over the horizon. With the aid of wind magic for projection, the king and the prince spoke to each other across the field.

Lon'qu's eyes scanned the battlefield as he stood beside Vaike. Robin had determined that they worked well together. Lon'qu could not complain — though he knew that he was the better fighter, Vaike was growing steadily stronger. Lon'qu wanted to see just how far he could get.

Now, though, Lon'qu's mind was otherwise occupied. The most of the Plegian force had to be underground, preparing to infiltrate the fortresses. They would be in for a rude surprise – all of the tunnels had been successfully barricaded, and even if they did find some way to blast through, there were a handful of soldiers remaining in each fortress. They were well armed, but they had several horns between them in case the infiltrators proved wily.

There came a cry on the part of the Shepherds. Swords and lances and Lady Lissa's healing staff were in the air. Lon'qu drew his blade but gave no battle-yell. He was not far from Frederick and his young charges, and the plan had him sticking close at hand. Lon'qu took a deep breath and set his gaze across the field. One way or another, it would all be over soon.


	17. Menin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lissa joins the fray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry for the long wait. This story is (almost) over, but I fell out of love with Awakening before I could finish it. Now, I'm back to do the job. This isn't the brightest chapter ever, but I think it's important to show how far Lissa's come and how far she's willing to go. I hope someone's still out there, because here we go!

Lissa shifted her weight, passing her staff and her tome from side to side.  She wasn’t used to carrying so much to a fight, and she had never realized just how heavy a book could be.  She had no idea where to put it, or really what to do with it.  All of Miriel’s precise instructions had fled her brain moments before the Mad King’s forces began to assemble outside.

She thought that probably wasn’t a bad thing — forgetting, that is.  Chrom didn’t know about it yet, so he hadn’t put her near the front lines or anything.  She was at the back, where everyone seemed to think she belonged.  Maybe the back was a good place for her.

Lissa shivered as her eyes fell on the Mad King Gangrel and the Plegian army.  To tell the truth, she was terrified.

“Everything all right, darling?”

Lissa looked up to where Maribelle perched on her horse.  Her friend was watching her rather than the field.

“Yeah,” Lissa said.  “I’m just a little nervous.  This is really it, isn’t it?”

Maribelle nodded.  “Though it behooves me to admit so much, I am also frightened.”  The noblewoman looked over the field.  “I’ve half a mind to haul you up here and ride far away, to someplace they will never find us,” she said softly.

“Maribelle?”

The other noblewoman shook her head.  “No, don’t listen to me, my treasure.  It’s going to be all right.  After this, we will go home.”

Lissa tugged on Maribelle’s leg.  She grinned up at her friend.  “Don’t worry,” she said.  “I’ll protect the both of us.”

“No!” Maribelle said.  Her tone told Lissa that whatever solemnity had come over her had passed.  Lissa looked around, but no one had so much as glanced at them.  Lon’qu and Vaike stood together, and Frederick faced forward.  All eyes were at the front, where the proverbial line in the sand was being drawn.  Lissa found herself instinctively drawing closer to Maribelle.  There was a pit in her stomach that made itself known every time she so much as glanced across the field.

“No, I cannot allow you to do that,” Maribelle was saying.  “I will be the one to protect you.”

Lissa stuck out her tongue.  “Yeah, well I’ve got one of these,” she said, holding up her tome.  She sounded braver than she felt.

Maribelle had the grace not to look surprised.  “And I have one of these,” she said, holding up the reins of her horse.

They held eye contact for another moment before they were startled out of their reverie by the sound of shouts.  The soldiers of the Feroxi-Ylissean army had raised their weapons and were chanting, though what they said, Lissa could not tell.

She and Maribelle raised their staves together.

“For Ylisse!” Maribelle screamed.  “Destroy the barbarians, for Ylisse!”

Lissa said nothing.  She felt out of place on the field, as if it weren’t truly her fight.  She had to get ready, to be mentally prepared to see the scores of wounded that would soon need her help—

_Love, milady.  It’s about love_.

_That_ certainly wasn’t helping.  Lissa tried to clear her head, but the soldiers were still yelling, and now they were advancing.  The battle had begun.

* * *

The fighting was fierce.  Lissa was so busy patching up the men that she entirely forgot about the tome she yet carried with her.  Some of the Plegian men had brought serrated blades, and the wounds they made were horrific, jagged edged things straight out of nightmare.  Lissa would have been sick if she’d had the time.

As it was, all she could hear was, “Healer, healer!”  It was an incessant call that echoed around her, sounding in her ears until even the din of the battle was drowned out.  She came to those who could not move, and the rest gravitated towards her.  There were arms lopped very nearly off, stab wounds, and too many arrow wounds to count.  Then there were the injuries for which there was no healing: the cuts that had amputated limbs entirely, shots that had managed to hit the heart or the neck, and any sort of hit to the spine.  One soldier Lissa was called on to heal had been cleaved clean in two.  HIs friend held his upper half and pleaded for her to fix him, to put him back together.

It was those two, the dead man and his friend, that did it.  Lissa felt something in her throat not unlike bile as she turned away from that scene.  Plegia, the Mad King, whoever was responsible for this — they were _monsters_.

Lissa had never considered herself a violent person.  Even when Emmeryn had fallen, Lissa hadn’t felt the urge to hurt anyone.  She’d thought of running, of hiding, of crying — but there were no thoughts of revenge, of retribution.  Now, it was different.  She felt out of place in her own skin.  She felt _useless_ —

A Plegian soldier broke through the protective ranks of Ylissean and Feroxi soldiers that gathered about her.  He raised his lance to strike at Lissa.  She saw him coming, saw that there was no Lon’qu, no Frederick, there to block the lance or to take the blow for her.  She was on her own.

Lissa lunged forward, under the arc of the Plegian’s arm.  She hit him in the ribs with her staff, and he grunted with the force of it.  As he skidded backwards, he grabbed the end of the staff and made to return the favor.  An injured soldier, a Feroxi woman, ran at the Plegian and slammed him with her body, screaming incoherently as she did so.

“Get out of the way!”

Lissa barely recognized her voice as her own.  She had pulled the staff to one hand, and with her other, she had opened the tome Miriel had given her, just as practiced.  Her body remembered what Miriel had taught, and it acted on its own.  Lissa screamed, her rage and her sadness coalescing as she summoned the biggest fireball she could muster.

The injured soldier pulled herself away from the Plegian before it hit.  The enemy — for that’s what Lissa thought of him as — screamed as the flames engulfed his body.  In seconds, there was nothing left but a few scraps of metal.

Lissa’s ears rang.  All around her, men were dying.  The injured soldier was saying something, but Lissa uttered an incantation of healing to mend her and moved away.  A Plegian myrmidon was trying to run down a Feroxi fighter—she sent a fireball his way, watching as it flew through the air to find the swordsman’s back.  She didn’t hear him shriek, though she knew he must have.

“Milady!”

An arm around Lissa’s wrist brought her back to reality.  It was the injured Feroxi soldier.  Lissa blinked twice and swallowed bile.

“Milady,” the soldier was saying, “come this way!  We’ve more need of healers than fighters this day.”

“Raimi?” Lissa asked.  “From the border pass?”

“Aye,” Raimi said.  “You’ve grown much since then.  It is an honor to fight beside you, but you must come!”

“No,” Lissa said.  “These men, they’re slaughtering us.”

“Aye,” Raimi said, “but have you seen what you’ve done to them?  They cower in fear from you.  Come, before they attack again.  We’ve many injured, and more on the way."

Lissa staggered as she tried to follow the knight.  “Where are Frederick and Lon’qu?”

The knight looked grim.  “Looking for you, milady.”

Lissa took a few steps toward Raimi and stumbled.  Her tome felt heavy in her hands—her shaking hands.  The smell of acrid smoke filled her lungs.  Tears pricked her eyes.

“Come,” Raimi said again, softer this time.  “We are not all of us made to be fighters.”

* * *

“Love, milady,” Frederick said. “It’s about love.”

Lissa’s ears went red.  “What?”

Frederick paused for a long moment.  “You are… You are the most important thing I’ve protected.  You are a light in the darkness.  I know that…others…feel the same.”  He spoke slowly.  Lissa wished she could see his face.  “It’s their love for you—my love for you—that does it.”

“Frederick?”

Crickets sounded in the night.  The ground, yet damp from the short-lived rainy season, wriggled with worms and critters Lissa had no name for.

“You are our hope,” Frederick said, holding her tight.  “Our hope for a better future and a brighter tomorrow.  You see combat from one side—from the side of healing.  When you’re on the other end, looking to do harm, it does things to you.  To your ability to see hope, and goodness, and light.  It’s painful and inhuman work, being a soldier.”

Lissa breathed softly.  “Then why do it?”

Frederick answered very carefully.  “I cannot speak for all,” he said.  “There are many in the Feroxi service who were conscripted.  For those men and women, there is no choice.  I can only speak for me.”  He swallowed.  “I do it because I must.  I must protect this,” he said, holding Lissa close.  “If I do not fight, I cannot protect the one thing I cannot live without.”

Lissa leaned her head back against Frederick.  Immediately, she pulled back.

Behind her, Frederick stiffened.  “Milady, I apologize, I—”

Lissa laughed, trying to disguise her nerves.  Her face burned in the darkness, and she sincerely hoped Frederick could not see.  She knew what he meant—what he was trying to say and could not—and she had no answer for him.

“It’s not that,” she said, because it wasn’t.  “Your armor is really uncomfortable, you know?”

Frederick laughed once in the darkness, and Lissa felt him shift behind her.  The breastplate was removed, and Lissa leaned back against his chest.  She could hear his heartbeat under his clothes, and she rested her ear against it.

“You’re my hope, you know,” Lissa said.  “For getting home.  For getting Chrom home, too.  You’re all we’ve got left.”

“You have much more than just me,” Frederick said.  “You’ve the nation of Ylisse.”

“But you’re the one here with us, now,” Lissa said.  She curled against Frederick.  For all that she wasn’t willing to address the elephant in the room, he was comfortable when he wasn’t studded with armor.

Frederick pulled her close, guarding her against the chill of the night.  “Yes,” Frederick spoke into the night.  “I am with you.”

* * *

Raimi helped Lissa to the rear lines, where the injured had gathered to recuperate.  Maribelle was there and she nodded once at Lissa when they met eyes.  Lissa looked around and could not find Frederick, Chrom, or Lon’qu.  She was grateful for that.  She didn’t think she could face any of them now.  She felt dirty and sick and tired.

“Stay here, now,” Raimi ordered.  “Khan Flavia will skin me alive if she learns that I left the princess of Ylisse alone on the field.”

“No worries,” Lissa said.  Her voice belied her terror.  “Just, if you see any of them, tell them I’m all right,” she said.

Raimi bowed once.  “Yes, milady.”  She turned to leave.

“And Raimi?”

“Yes?”

Lissa fiddled with her tome before setting it aside.  She was aware that Maribelle was watching her with no slight degree of concern and that men and women were near to begging for reprieve, but she could not turn to them yet.

“Please don’t die out there.”

Raimi’s smile was grim.  “I shall endeavor to win!”

The knight ran to join the rest in the fray.  Lissa took a deep breath and turned to those around her.  As she healed, she was haunted by the notion that she’d inflicted similar wounds on others mere minutes ago.  She had killed.

Her mouth ran over the incantation to heal again and again and again.  Her voice died, and still her lips formed the words and tissue reconnected, ligands and joints resettled themselves, and bones, splintered by heavy axes, mended.


	18. Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Shepherds face off against the Mad King of Plegia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, our final battle! Here is the last chapter before the epilogue. It's been a fantastic experience (and a learning one, too) and I appreciate every last person who has cheered me on. May the blessings of Naga fall on you a thousandfold!

Chrom was surrounded.There were four men armed with heavy, glinting axes circling him like vultures over a carcass.The prince’s eyes scanned the field for anyone he recognized — Frederick, Lissa, _anyone_.All he could see was the dust kicked up by cavalry and the rise and fall of swords and axes as men and women hacked each other to mincemeat.In the sky, a rain of arrows targeted pegasus and wyvern riders alike.Chrom’s mind raced, drowning out the din of combat and the clash of steel and the screams of the dying.

The four men charged at the same time.Chrom ran to meet the first head-on, slashing him across the abdomen.Blood hit Chrom’s face and burned his eyes but he managed to spin deftly to dodge two axes coming from either side as they each tried to remove his head from his body.He ducked, lunging forward, parried a blow meant for his back, and spun out.Two down, two to go.The remaining warriors were wary now, but they charged with the same ferocity as they had before they had seen their comrades fall at the hands of a single man.

Chrom didn’t feel like a single man.He felt like an army condensed into one body.Rage boiled in his chest and bled through his fingertips.There were tears in his eyes that burned his tear ducts and his cheeks alike.He did not want to kill, but he had to, so he would.He wanted to see his friends alive and well, but he couldn’t, so he had to press on without.Duty.Chrom had never hated it more.

Before he was even fully aware, the two remaining men were dead on the ground.Falchion gleamed red.Chrom took off at a sprint for where the shouting was the loudest.He couldn’t see the Mad King of Plegia, but Chrom was willing to bet everything that the lunatic could be found in the middle of the surrounding chaos, imposing his deranged will in the form of a bloodbath.

* * *

Frederick could see Kellam.

In any other circumstances, he might have been amused, but when he was looking for Chrom, for Lissa, for just about anyone, Kellam was not the one he wanted to find.

Frederick picked up a lance sticking out of a corpse and hurled it at a Plegian regular.Frederick felt a pang of satisfaction to see that his aim was true as the soldier fell, his knees giving way as he hit the ground.Frederick urged his horse forward to retrieve the lance, and as he did so, he glanced at the soldier he’d felled.

His stomach turned once, as it always did when staring down a fresh corpse.It was not, as he had expected, a man.He’d killed one of the enemy’s healers, a woman who must have been close to Frederick’s age.From a distance, he’d mistaken her staff for a spear.

Dislodging the javelin he’d killed her with, Frederick rode away.He’d lost sight of Chrom.Lissa crossed his mind briefly, but she was all but guaranteed to be near the back with Maribelle and the other healers, not near the front like the poor woman he’d just felled.A battle cry caught his attention, and Frederick turned to see that the fighting had shifted while he was busy picking off stragglers.He could see spikes of artificial lightning issuing from the sky, striking down soldiers.Without further ado, he kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks and took off.Wherever the fighting was the thickest, that’s where Frederick belonged.

* * *

Lon’qu was nothing if not practical.  In battle, he worked to keep his ego in check.  He knew his strengths and his weaknesses backward and forward, and he played to them as best as he knew how.  In the time that Robin had paired them up, he’d learned Vaike’s, too.  He knew what Vaike was capable of almost as well as he knew himself.

In this way, he knew that they were absolutely and utterly overmatched.

Vaike was strong but he wasn’t fast.Neither of them had the sort of armor that could take several hits.Surrounded by cavalry with heavy spears and blades, they were at an extreme disadvantage.

“Move,” Lon’qu ordered.There was nowhere to take shelter, so the only thing left was to run back toward the army and hope that someone came to their aid sooner rather than later.Vaike gave no response.He was bleeding from a hairline cut, and he seemed rather disoriented.Lon’qu pulled Vaike as best as they could.

Reasonably, their chances of outrunning the cavalry were negligible.But if they could attract the attention of a friendly fighter…

Vaike stumbled, and Lon’qu jerked to a halt.

“Won’t make it,” Vaike muttered.Lon’qu noted belatedly that he had several gashes across his abdomen.

“Come on,” Lon’qu said.“Just a little farther.”

“Just leave!” Vaike yelled.His lungs sounded wet when he coughed.

Lon’qu risked a backwards glance.The cavalry had formed in the distance, their swords and spears set.If he left Vaike, the fighter would die.If he tried to help, they would both be killed.

After a beat, Lon’qu resumed dragging Vaike.The blond man cursed and tried to get up, tried to help.Lon’qu’s eyes roamed the field wildly, looking for a sign of pigtails and a bright yellow dress.Lissa was nowhere to be found.

* * *

“We’re too far away.”

This, said quietly by Maribelle, stirred Lissa’s attention.Injured soldiers had stopped coming to be revived.Riders were carrying dying friends and allies, but the once-steady stream of men and women had slowed to a trickle.It would have been a good sign, had the battle not been raging in a distance, fierce as ever.

Looking across the field, Lissa’s stomach churned.Somewhere out there were men whose bodies were burnt to crisps, unrecognizable even to their friends.Somewhere out there lay the corpses of men she had killed.

“Stay here,” Maribelle ordered.She’d climbed back on her horse, having dismounted to reach men who could not stand.

“Wait,” Lissa said, speaking before her mind had caught up with her.This was a terrible idea.“You can’t go out there.”

“I have to,” Maribelle said.She was watching the commotion in the distance with a sage, grave look.She appeared to Lissa so much older than she was.One day, Lissa thought, she would make a fine judge, and she would oversee her cases with just this expression.

“No,” Lissa protested.

Maribelle smiled weakly.

“Not without me, anyway.”

Maribelle’s smile disappeared.“No,” she said firmly.There was Lissa’s Maribelle.

“Yes,” Lissa said, before she had time to back out.She had an obligation—to her friends, to her family, to her country.

Whatever Maribelle saw in Lissa’s face dissolved her opposition.He proffered a hand and hauled Lissa up behind her.

“Hold on tight,” Maribelle said.

* * *

Chrom’s mouth was dry as he hacked and slashed into the fray.  Enemies and allies alike pressed in on him from all sides.  Between the splattered gore and the torn and dirt-encrusted clothes, in the split second he had to decide, Chrom couldn’t tell whether the men before him were friends or foes.  He feared that he attacked each as if they were alike, but there was no time to think on it.  He had to find the Mad King, Gangrel.  Once the king was dead, the fighting would be over.  They could go _home_.

Gangrel was right where Chrom suspected he would be: in the middle of the fray, waving a bizarrely jagged sword up and down.Chrom soon discovered why: the thing shot lightning bolts.Gangrel was using it to pick off strong men whilst surrounded by a platoon of his own guards.Chrom was ready to charge when he heard someone shout for him.

“Milord, beware!”

A lance passed by Chrom’s face, narrowly avoiding his nose.The owner of the lance— _Raimi_ , Chrom reminded himself—pulled it back, and Chrom belatedly noted that, had it not been for her, he would have been skewered by a very young myrmidon.

“Milord,” Raimi panted.Sweat poured from her brow.Her armor was riddled with dents and slashes, but she appeared unharmed.“Milady wishes you to know,” she said, parrying an oncoming blow and stabbing a man in the throat, “that she is well.”

 _Lissa_.Chrom placed his back to Raimi so that they could cover each other and resumed the brutal onslaught.“What?Wasn’t she with the healers?”

The silence on Raimi’s side was in no way lessened by the roar and the screams of the dying and the victorious.“She came out to fight,” Raimi said.“She had a tome.”

Chrom’s blood ran cold.

“Is she unharmed?” Chrom snapped.“Where were Frederick and Lon’qu?”

“Milady wishes you to know that she is well,” Raimi repeated, with a note of aggravation.“I returned her to the healers.I didn't see your knight nor Lon’qu.”Chrom cursed, rather too loudly, and Raimi gave a full-bodied laugh.“Let’s slaughter some Plegian scum and find them!”

Raimi cut away from Chrom and pushed into a new mass of warriors.Chrom made to follow, but a white-hot bolt of energy stopped him in his tracks.Gangrel had spotted him.

* * *

Frederick ran abreast of Sully and Stahl before he could reach the brunt of the fighting.

“Left flank’s collapsed,” Stahl breathed.His left arm was bleeding profusely, and he was hunched over his horse awkwardly.Sully was covered in blood that doesn’t appear to be her own.“Vaike and Lon’qu got separated.”Stahl coughed violently and doubled over further.

“We need reinforcements,” Sully said.Her voice was hoarse, and she laid her free hand on Stahl’s back.Frederick didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so afraid.

“Fall back to the healers,” Frederick ordered.He risked a glance at the mob of fighters in the middle.It would all come to nothing if the flanks fell.

“Like hell,” Sully said, and Stahl grinned, wincing only once as he straightened out.

“It’ll take more than a few swipes to knock us down!” Stahl said.His words were brave but his tone was not.He had lost a lot of blood.The battle cry of an incoming soldier brought them back to the reality of the battlefield.

“Have it your way,” Frederick ordered, easily lancing the man.

Sully was moving before Frederick could say anything else.Stahl’s hacking cough kept Frederick from taking off immediately after her.

“Fall back,” Frederick said.“You’ll do no one any good dead.”

Stahl grinned.It was weaker than when Sully had been present.“Got to put on a brave face,” Stahl said, retaking the reins.He flicked them once and directed his mount to follow Sully, who was giving several Plegians a taste of Ylissean lance.

“Onward, then,” Frederick mumbled.

* * *

Vaike was down.  Not dead—he was groaning weakly against the dirt—but his skin was pale with blood loss and Lon’qu could hear his lungs rattle with impending death with each inhale.  At this rate, he wouldn’t last long.

Lon’qu stood over him, blade in hand.He felt _rage_.The riders who’d caught sight of them earlier were now charging.They saw an easy opportunity.If he couldn’t get Vaike out, he’d send a few other souls to accompany him.

One rider reached Lon’qu before the others.He hurled a javelin which sailed past Lon’qu’s head, then tried to urge the horse to trample Lon’qu and Vaike underfoot.Lon’qu ran at the beast and slashed it across it’s breast.It skittered to one side, braying horribly, and the rider tumbled.Lon’qu wasted no time divesting the man of his life.

The others were less brash.There were two of them, and they ran side by side.Lon’qu could not easily dispatch them as he’d done their companion.

This was it, then.The end of Lon’qu of Ferox, formerly of Chon’sin.As he faced the incoming riders, he wondered what Lissa would think to hear of his death.He’d half thought he’d die defending her long before now.Instead, he’d fall here, where the field was riddled with corpses of those who had succumbed to death before him.Perhaps he would be lost amongst them.Perhaps that was a good thing.He hoped Khan Basilio knew, though.Lon’qu respected the Khan.

Lon’qu deepened his stance and made to charge for the oncoming cavalry.

The sound of hoofbeats against the ground distracted him.There were riders—coming from the right.Was the center of the line breached?

“Watch it!” Sully yelled.She swung in front of him, reoriented herself, and charged the Plegian cavalry.Alongside her was another knight—Stahl, Lon’qu reminded himself—and… _Frederick_?Why wasn’t he with the princess?

Lon’qu took the break in the onslaught to kneel beside Vaike.He was breathing, but his eyes were glassy and his hands were cold.Lon’qu tried to put pressure on all of his wounds, but he would have had to have laid down on top of the man to actually cover him.Vaike shivered against the ground.If they couldn’t find a healer, he would die.

“Lon’qu?”

The swordsman glanced up.Frederick was staring down at him.Blood that was not his own dripped from the front corners of his chest plate.

“He needs a healer,” Lon’qu said, hauling Vaike to his feet.The fighter yelped at the sudden movement.“Ride him to the back lines.”

Frederick reached for Vaike but stopped short.Something on the horizon had caught his eye.

* * *

“Over there,” Maribelle said, pointing away from the center.  “Someone’s in trouble.”

Lissa ignored the gnawing worry in her stomach to peer at the rapidly approaching horizon.“Is that Sully?”

It was.Sully rode directly for them and guided her horse to trot abreast.

“Hurry,” Sully said.“Vaike’s down and Stahl’s hurt.Frederick and Lon’qu are on their feet but they’re not in the best shape, either.”

Before Lissa could think, she’d asked, “Where’s my brother?”

Sully nodded at the whirling mass of soldiers to their right.“In there,” she said grimly.

Lissa’s stomach clenched.Maribelle glanced at her once before saying, “Lead us to Vaike and the others.”

Sully shook her head and reached for Lissa.“We need healers everywhere,” Sully said tersely.“Maribelle, you go tend to the others and meet us in the center.”

“I am _not_ leaving Lissa,” Maribelle said.

“I can’t find Captain Chrom,” Sully snapped, impatient.Frederick and Stahl became more than just distant blobs in Lissa’s eyes, though she still couldn’t see Vaike or Lon’qu.She assumed they were on the ground.“We’re getting slaughtered out here, and there are two of you already close.Divide and conquer.”

“It’s all right,” Lissa interjected.She grabbed for Sully’s hand.To her surprise, Sully lifted her with one arm and deposited the cleric directly behind her.Lissa grasped the knight’s waist carefully.

Beside her, Maribelle looked terrified.

“It’ll be fine,” Lissa said, mustering some courage.She thought of the bodies strewn across the field and shuddered.“We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll find you,” Maribelle said.“I’ll bring the others and I’ll find you.”

Lissa smiled weakly.Sully kicked her horse’s flanks and off they ran.

Maribelle soon disappeared, riding for Frederick and the rest.Without her friend—and that wasn’t to say that Sully wasn’t her friend, but she wasn’t _Maribelle_ —Lissa felt vulnerable all over.If Sully perceived her fear, she ignored it.

“The fighting’s thickest this way,” Sully said.“We’re going to find the Captain and pull him out.We need to reform the lines.Robin’s orders.”Sully paused.  "I want you to try to make yourself as small as possible, you hear me?I’m going to try to get us clear of the worst of it, but it’s going to be hard.A horse makes for a pretty big target.”Lissa swallowed once and nodded, then remembered that Sully couldn’t see her.

“Right,” she said.

Sully hunched over and suddenly they were moving faster, charging at the center of the fighting.Lissa could see fireballs and lightning strikes and the glint of light off of steel and the wooden shafts of arrows as they cruised past her face.She resolutely ducked behind Sully and did her best not to cry.

Lissa squeezed Sully a little tighter as she suddenly found herself at an odd angle to the ground.The horse was up on its back legs.Lissa had a vision of someone swiping at the belly of the beast and she was reciting an incantation to heal without knowing if there was a wound at all.

All at once, they were back on four legs.“So long, chump,” Sully said from in front of Lissa.The princess realized with a sharp jolt that Sully had trampled the hapless Plegian.Before she could fully process what she’d seen—no, _heard_ ; she’d heard the crush of bones under the full weight of the horse—Sully was moving again, urging them into the center of the fray.If Lissa had been paying the slightest bit of attention, she would have heard the demoniacal laughter of a madman on the loose just ahead.

 

* * *

Chrom eyed the scorched earth before him warily before swinging around to face his enemy.

Whatever Gangrel saw on the prince’s face set him in stitches again.The king’s guards had moved away, setting up a hole in the middle of the battlefield.

“Ha, Princey!Didn’t think I’d see you?” Gangrel called.“Come on, then!”

Chrom leveled Falchion at Gangrel.“This ends here!” Chrom yelled.“You murdered my sister and sacrificed the lives of countless innocent people.You’ve sent your own countrymen to be slaughtered.”

“By you!” Gangrel grinned.“You slaughtered them like pigs at a feast.So much like your father, with all your savagery.”Chrom felt his face go hot with shame and anger.“Except, you’d say that you fight for the _people_ , wouldn’t you?As if your friends can save you from yourself!Clinging to each other won’t save you maggots when the boot falls!”

“Be silent!” Chrom snarled.

“Then come on!” Gangrel yelled.He tossed his blade from hand to hand.“Come, princeling.I’ve sharpened my sword just for you!”

Chrom took a deep breath.“My sister wished for our people to know peace, Gangrel,” he said, speaking as steadily as he could.His hands trembled with rage, to gut the Mad King and leave his corpse to fester on the blood-watered fields.He longed to unleash the savagery Gangrel alluded to.“But as long as you draw breath, it can never come.For Ylisse!”

Chrom charged, arms pumping at his sides, his pulse in his ears.Gangrel didn’t even put up a defensive stance: just stood, for all the world as if he intended to bodily let Chrom skewer him alive.

The utter defenselessness on the part of Gangrel startled Chrom.Could he kill a man who refused to raise his sword to defend himself?Knowing that Gangrel had ordered Emmeryn killed?A thousand thoughts ran through Chrom’s mind with utter clarity—Gangrel may have factored into his sister’s death but that he himself had not slain her; Chrom’s father the late Exalt had slain many in just this manner, killing the defenseless and the weak; Chrom feared becoming the man who had left such a stain on Ylisse’s history.

With his mind awash in questions and thoughts that had no easy resolution, Chrom slowed down just a little.He saw the moment Gangrel’s smile widened as the king understood that Chrom would not—perhaps _could_ not—kill him.

Gangrel flicked his blade once, then twice.Two bolts of hot lightning came charging forth, frothing at the edges, aimed right at Chrom’s chest.

* * *

In the time it took for Maribelle to close Vaike’s wounds and helped Stahl recover, they were surrounded once more.  Without Sully, they were in a tight spot.  Vaike, Lon’qu, Stahl, and Frederick were doing their best to shield Maribelle from any blows, but there were archers and Naga curse them all but their aim was _good._ Frederick himself had taken an arrow to the chest, and though Maribelle had quickly mended him, the skin itched where magic had sewn it together and a phantom pain persisted.

Maribelle herself was injured.Due to a careless move on the Shepherds’ collective part, a horseman with a blade had managed to get close.He’d been aiming for her heart, but Vaike’s sudden appearance and Maribelle’s horse’s own fear ensured that she suffered no worse than a gash across her leg.Through gritted teeth, she’d tried to explain to Frederick that she couldn’t heal herself, it was the one thing healers couldn’t do—but Frederick could only halfway listen to her explanation.There were many Plegians about, and they were out for blood.

As Frederick hacked and slashed at everything that came near, he kept one eye on the brunt of the fighting.It had shifted somewhat closer to their current location, but they were still only on the outskirts.Peals of lightning near the center caught his attention.Lissa wouldn’t be so foolish as to try to fight now of all times, would she?She was in there somewhere, looking for Chrom with Sully.A lump rose in Frederick’s throat and the urge to abandon Maribelle and the rest in search of his two charges came with it.Both heirs to the halidom were nowhere to be seen, and Frederick had gotten himself into a bind that precluded him from riding to their aid.That Lon’qu had found himself in the same situation did little to ease Frederick’s fear and fury.This was too close to the scenario Chrom had been desperately trying to avoid.

Frederick said a prayer that Sully might come through in his place and kept fighting.

* * *

Much as he loathed to admit it, Lon’qu was getting tired.  Tired enough that having Maribelle at his back wasn’t as frightening or as loathsome as it might have been in any other circumstance.  Tired enough that Vaike’s mindless battle cry grated on his nerves and Stahl’s perpetually hesitant strokes irked him and Frederick’s split attention was enough to make him want to mimic Vaike himself.

When Lon’qu was tired—this sort of bone tired, the kind of tired that comes only on the bloody battlefield after such a long engagement—he became snappish.He wanted everyone to fight hard and well and to give their all, and when pushed hard enough, he could express as much.This was well-known to Khan Basilio.It was part of why he’d made remarks suggesting that someday Lon’qu may have the makings of a Khan.

Lon’qu was at that breaking point.

“We need to move,” he called.Frederick wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention, the damn fool, but Vaike heard him.

“Where?” the warrior asked.Lon’qu huffed a laugh.Vaike, always ready for another fight.Whatever negative reservations Lon’qu had had about him in the beginning were becoming undone.

“Center,” Lon’qu called.

“To Lissa?” Maribelle called.

“Yes. Center,” Lon’qu confirmed.Maribelle made a sound that Lon’qu took to mean assent.

“No,” Frederick shouted finally.“We stand and fight.”

Lon’qu slashed at the soldier running at him with vicious precision.His gloves were soaked with blood that was not his own, and he kept needing to readjust his grip to keep a hold of his blade.The edge was dulling, though, and Lon’qu would need to pick up another one soon.

“We stay here and we die,” Lon’qu grunted, hoping his voice carried well enough.“We find Chrom and the others and regroup.”

“We have to catch up to Lissa and Chrom both!” Maribelle added.

Whatever reservations Frederick might have had died on his tongue.Clearly, Lon’qu and Maribelle’s points had struck a nerve.

“We move slow.Keep her covered,” Lon’qu said, referring to Maribelle.The noblewoman’s protestations of being referred to as “her” fell on deaf ears as Frederick nodded in acquiescence.Nearly as soon, they were moving.

It was slow going; fighting while moving was harder than trying to hold ground, at least for the Shepherds.It was a common tactic for Lon’qu and for any decent Feroxi warrior, accustomed as they were to dealing with harsher, shifty terrain, but he recognized how his allies struggled and tried to help accordingly.Slowly, a few steps at a time, they waded into the brunt of the action.

As they moved, the fighting became sparser.Lon’qu was confused until he saw a flash of white, the bounce of blonde pigtails, and a single arm outstretched toward the sky as if in prayer just on the other side of a thin line of Plegian warriors.

* * *

If prompted, Lissa wouldn’t have been able to give a blow-by-blow account of what happened in between Sully stopping short and that precise moment.  She had to have dismounted and run; she had to have dodged various weapons and spells and fists in order to stand where she now stood, hand in the air, screaming.

What she did know was that Gangrel was trying to kill her brother, and she was _furious_.

The words were on Lissa’s tongue.They felt as natural as walking, as breathing.She felt magic surging around her, arcing against her skin, and she threw it as hard as she could at the lightning even now curving toward Chrom’s chest.

The result, in her eyes, was cataclysmic.She was blinded, and she pulled both hands to cover her eyes.Someone had her waist, and there were many screams.

When Lissa could open her eyes again, it was to a charred circle.Chrom stood beside her, bracing himself—and across, the Mad King himself, bleeding from a cut on his cheek.

The tyrant laughed.“And what’s this?” he cackled.“The princess defends the prince?How disgustingly touching!I’ve already martyred one of your kind, girl.”He pointed the blade at Lissa.Chrom instinctively pulled Lissa back, but she held her ground.

“And that’s the last you’ll harm!” she yelled.“You killed my sister!This stops here!”

Gangrel snarled.“To hell with you both!”

He charged, kicking up tiny bolts of electricity along the ground.Chrom ran to meet him, swinging Falcion wildly.Lissa took a breath and summoned fire.As Gangrel moved to parry Chrom’s incoming blow, Lissa took aim and set off her spell at the Mad King’s unprotected flank.

The princess watched as Gangrel, attention torn between the incoming inferno and Chrom’s blade, managed to drop both defenses at once.The sound that issued from his lungs as he was propelled backwards, bleeding, was inhuman.

Lissa started to step back, appalled by what she had seen—by what she had _done_ , gods, she’d helped Chrom kill—but Chrom was walking toward the fallen man.With a deep breath, Lissa jogged after.

“F-fool of…a prince…” Gangrel was rasping. “Your people care not for you… You are…alone… As every man lives and dies:…alone…”He smiled.His teeth were bloody.“To hell with…all of it…”

Lissa watched as the last wisp of breath left Gangrel’s lungs.As she listened for further signs of respiration, she was aware of a profound silence around her.Frantically, she looked about, only to discover that all eyes were on either her or Chrom.She spun.Sully’s eyes met hers.Her face was white.Nearby, Lon’qu stood beside Vaike and Frederick.None moved.All at once, Robin cut through the fray and whatever had fallen over the armies dissipated.

“Chrom?” the tactician called.“Chrom!”

“Here, Robin,” Chrom answered.He sounded so tired.Louder, he said, “Soldiers of Plegia, your king is dead.We have no wish for further bloodshed.Lower your weapons and return home.No further harm shall befall you.”

Lissa found, in the silence that met this speech, that she was shivering.All told, the battlefield was very hot.At some point, the sun had emerged, and the ground had baked under its rays.The charred circle of earth that Lissa’s fire had left in its wake did nothing to ease the blistering temperatures.

The princess swayed and sat down.There were hands on her, trying to get her to stand, but she closed her eyes and breathed in and out, in and out.The war was over.They could go home.

In spite of the happiness she thought she ought to feel, Lissa cried.


	19. The End of All Things

Ylisstol.

Chrom could hardly believe his eyes to see it again.The gates had been reinforced with wood and nails, the ramshackle repairs conduced in the wake of Plegian occupation in the vain hope of keeping marauding bandits out.Merchants and peasants filed into the streets to meet him and his retinue as he rode in, eager to greet the new Exalt.

The thought filled Chrom with fear.He could not take his sister’s old title.He could not— _would_ not…

But what was there to do?Everywhere he looked, Chrom saw hunger, pain, and destruction.Even as the people cheered, he saw the wary eyes and tired hands.They would celebrate his return, but they expected restoration.They had seen so much hardship, all because Mad King Gangrel wanted the Fire Emblem.

Chrom waved to the people— _his_ people—and tried to infuse his expression with cheer and hope.Whatever he could do, would be done.He would raise Ylisstol, and all of Ylisse, back to the level of stability and prosperity they had enjoyed before the war.He would see towns rebuilt, trade routes re-opened, a new treaty signed between Ferox, Ylisse, and Plegia—a lasting peace.

He had to.It was his duty, as Ylissean royalty, to see it done.

* * *

Frederick rode at the head of the army.  Though Chrom was officially the leader, it was Frederick from whom they had received their orders, and it was to Frederick that they would respond.  They followed him, cheering and waving, the conquering army returned.  They bore gold in spades, the spoils of war that would make restoration possible, though Frederick and the Khans had had to work hard to convince Chrom to take the money at all.

Chrom, ever the idealist, hadn’t fully realized that the halidom was broke.Whatever the Plegian army and subsequent bandit attacks had left behind likely was of no monetary value.Absconding with part of the Plegian treasury was the only logical decision, though one that had weighed heavily on Chrom’s mind.

He was terrified, Frederick understood.Terrified of becoming his father, of losing all sympathy and empathy, of becoming the monster that so often proved to be the heart of man.

Frederick had faith, though.Chrom had himself, his people, and his sister.He would make it through.

* * *

Lon’qu travelled with the warriors of Ferox.

“It won’t take long,” Khan Basilio had promised, sensing Lon’qu’s discomfort at the thought of staying in Ylisse.He had rather hoped they could take their leave as soon as the fighting was over, but it wasn’t to be—something to do with the diplomatic negotiations now that the dust was starting to settle.

Lon’qu didn’t like it.He didn’t like that Vaike had started talking him up—well, talking both of them up, as Vaike was nigh-incapable of talking about anything but himself for an extended period of time—to the women he came across.He didn’t like that Frederick, on the few occasions on which they’d spoken, looked at him with an expression he didn’t know how to read.He didn’t like how the Shepherds had all but adopted him as one of their own, and he certainly didn’t like how Khan Basilio failed to correct the assumption that Lon’qu was one of them.

The arrival in Ylisstol only made him more tense.There were people, and lots of them, all crowding around and celebrating.Had they been in Ferox, Lon’qu might have felt like a king.As it was, he merely felt like an outsider.He didn’t belong.

“Cheer up,” Khan Basilio ordered.“It’s not every day you win a war against Plegia.”

Lon’qu didn’t have it in him to obey.

* * *

Lissa, together with Chrom, came to the royal palace.  It had been torched, which hurt to see, but Chrom had warned her that it wasn’t likely to be standing at all, so she had been prepared for worse.  She grinned and waved and shouted, which sent up corresponding shouts of glee amongst the people.

Inside, she felt sick.

Maribelle rode beside her at Lissa’s insistence.Maribelle had protested—her nobility allowed her to ride with the royal family but not abreast of them—but Lissa had persevered.She needed her friend, now more than ever, and they held hands as they approached the palace.Maribelle rubbed her hand with her thumb and spoke under her breath.

“Almost there,” Maribelle said.“We’re close, almost there.”

And then they were there, and Lissa could let her face fall.She cried.She was hurt, not outside but within.She wept for herself and her friends, for the living and the dead, for Emmeryn and everyone who had perished in a war no one should have had to fight.

* * *

_One month later_

* * *

“This would have been much easier if you had taken the title of Exalt,” Khan Flavia said.

Chrom shook his head no.They stood together on a mostly-clean terrace of the palace overlooking Ylisstol.In the distance, Chrom could see the people hard at work—rebuilding, laying bricks, putting up walls for homes that had been damaged.He had insisted that the town be rebuilt first; the palace could wait.The people had suffered enough for the sins of the royals.

In truth, he was hesitant to start restoring the castle.The last traces of Emmeryn were long gone, but that didn’t make it any easier to admit that she would never be returning to her chambers.She would never again accept violets plucked by Lissa under the watchful gaze of Phila, never greet the people she somehow loved to the bottom of her heart in person.Never, never, never.The word was an itch under Chrom’s skin, and his sister’s face was trapped behind his eyelids.They had never retrieved her body.

“I could not,” Chrom said, turning to the Khan.“Cannot.You know that.”

Flavia nodded once.“I know,” she said.“Drawing up a brand-new treaty, though—no amendments, no whatever—it’s taken time.Longer, I suspect, than we could afford.”She waved her hand as if to signify how little a written document mattered to her.

“My apologies,” Chrom said.“I have no intention of keeping you here beyond your desire to stay.”

Flavia laughed.“Oh, Chrom, I don’t think you could keep me here against my will if you tried.”Chrom smiled slightly, and though he understood what she meant, he still bristled under the suggestion that his men were any less qualified than hers.“As agreed, we will be leaving at the end of this week.”

“Yes,” Chrom said.“We’ll be sad to see you go.I’m glad we’re allies.”

Flavia frowned.“I’ve been thinking about that,” she said.“As a gesture of goodwill, we were thinking of leaving a few of our finest with you.”

Chrom paused at that.“Really?” he asked.“Don’t you need every hand you can get?”

Flavia shrugged.“Basilio and I talked it over.We can manage any unrest at home by ourselves.”

“We would be grateful for the assistance,” Chrom said, bowing lightly.

Flavia laughed, loud and full-bodied.“Oh, but you _are_ a charmer,” she said, winking.“Lon’qu’s not happy about the idea, but he’ll come around.He’s grown under your direction.”

Chrom hesitated.“Lon’qu?” he asked.“Are you sure?”

“He’s one of Basilio’s best,” Flavia said.“I personally am leaving Raimi here, if that’s all right.She’s grown fond of the princess.”

Chrom knew full well.Lissa had spent a great deal of time with Raimi of late.He had seen them on the practice fields sparring under Frederick’s watchful eye.Frederick had come to him early on with his concerns, though Chrom had allowed it to continue.Raimi held back most all of her strength, and Lissa seemed happy.It was all Chrom wanted.

“You are too kind,” Chrom said.“We would be pleased to have them.”

“Good,” Flavia said.

Chrom paused, his mind racing. _Reciprocity_ , he heard Emmeryn saying.An act for an act.

Flavia, thankfully, headed him off.“I see that mind working,” she said.“We don’t ask for two in return.”

“That’s—”

“We’ve taken our share of the war chest, and we have a signed agreement with you,” she said.“More importantly, we know—you’re honest, hardworking.If we need help, we know where to turn.”

“Thank you,” Chrom said, relieved.

Flavia clapped him on the shoulder.“May the Gods shine upon us all,” she said.Chrom echoed her sentiment, and Flavia excused herself.

* * *

Lately, Frederick couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t something he had much experience with.Having been a soldier most his life, Frederick was well-accustomed to a regimented existence: he rose with the sun, began his duties, and worked until nightfall.Sleep was as important as everything else he did, for without sleep, all else would suffer.

The older soldiers, had Frederick asked, would have told him that he was experiencing the aftermath of the trauma of war.He was anxious and jittery at times, then almost numb at others.He worked hard, but he didn’t feel accomplished.

Watching Lady Lissa train with a Feroxi knight didn’t help.

Raimi was more than happy to train Lissa in the ways of war.The knight had given the princess a battle axe and helped her tear apart a few practice dummies.Raimi knew little of magic, but she was a stalwart fighter, and she had Lissa running laps around the field as Frederick had never been able to do.

Or, to tell the honest truth, had never wanted her to have to do.She was a princess, not a fighter.She had no place on the battlefield, and Frederick had always hoped beyond hope to keep her away.Now, she had seen first-hand what it felt like to fight.She had killed.

That knowledge haunted him.He had failed her.

To fight his feelings of helplessness, Frederick often went into Ylisstol.He hoisted beams and laid stones to repave the roads.He made windows and split logs and felled trees for firewood.He worked himself to the bone, then kept going.

“Sir Frederick,” an older gentleman called after him.Frederick wiped his brow with his arms and stood, gently setting the beams he was sawing down to size aside.“Sir, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Frederick said.“Can I help you?”

“Here,” the man said.He held a satchel out.

Frederick shook his head.“I cannot,” Frederick said, pushing the bag back to the man.

“I insist,” the man said.“You work so hard—why, you do the work of ten men all by yourself!The boys look up to you, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you something.”

Frederick bowed.“Thank you,” he said.“You are too kind.”

The man smiled.“You’re the one building our houses!Would all had your kind disposition.Please, take care.”

As the man walked away, Frederick fingered the satchel.Gold coins, by the feel of it.He felt guilty taking the money, but there had been no way to refuse without insulting the man.

Frederick turned back to task at hand.The beams were heavy, and they needed to be cut down by about half.One of the houses down the street had a collapsed roof on one side, and the entire half of the outer wall needed to be rebuilt.

Movement on the edge of Frederick’s vision caught his attention, and he lowered the beam again.

Lon’qu.

The Feroxi approached openly and obviously, which Frederick found odd.Lon’qu tended to sneak around, which was hardly standard Feroxi behavior, but Frederick had come to expect as much.He thought that if they had met under different circumstances, they might have been better friends.As it was, Frederick watched Lon’qu with suspicion as he took a seat across from him, eyeing the beams.

“Well?” Frederick asked, his tone flat.

Lon’qu was silent for a long time.He looked from the beams to Frederick several times before he said, “I came to apologize.”Frederick bit back a retort.“Before the battle,” Lon’qu clarified.“I was out of line.You have my apologies.”

“I accept them,” Frederick said.Lon’qu looked up, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Without another word, Lon’qu picked one of the beams.

“They need to be this length,” Frederick said, scoring one with a knife.

“The house down there?” Lon’qu asked, gesturing with his head.

“Aye.They’ve been staying with family until the roof is fixed,” Frederick said.

Lon’qu arched an eyebrow.“Shouldn’t take more than a day.”Frederick frowned, and Lon’qu said, “Between the two of us.We cut the beams, you set them while I start on the roof.It’ll be tight, but…”

“You lay the roof, I put up the beams as we go,” Frederick said.“It might work.”

Lon’qu smiled as much as Frederick had ever seen.It made him look young.They set to working, and didn’t speak much more.

* * *

Lon’qu jumped off of the roof, letting his toes absorb most of the shock so that he didn’t break his legs.  Beside him, Frederick whistled and clapped his hands to get the sawdust off of them.  His hair was caked with it, a light dust visible even in the dark.  The sun had gone down a little while ago, and a chill had taken the air.

“It’s done,” Frederick said.“We did well.”

Lon’qu grunted and nodded.“Will you be here again tomorrow?” he asked, watching the knight.He hadn’t sought Frederick out in particular—in fact, he’d been walking to try to clear his head in hopes of coming to terms with his new _predicament_ —but they’d proved a good team.They could get a lot accomplished between the two of them.

“Aye,” Frederick said, glancing up at the sky.It was cloudy, but the stars shone at intervals.“There’s much work to be done.”

“I’ll join you,” Lon’qu said.

“Aren’t you getting ready to leave?”

Lon’qu looked away.“I’m staying,” he said.He offered no further explanation, and Frederick didn’t ask for one.

“Does milord know?” Frederick asked.

“He and Khan Flavia discussed it,” Lon’qu said.“Raimi and I stay to help.”

Something crossed Frederick’s face at the mention of Raimi, but Lon’qu didn’t have a word for it so he ignored it.

“I see,” Frederick said.Lon’qu thought his tone carefully neutral as he said, “We’re glad to have you.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Lon’qu said, voice sharp.

Frederick ran a hand through his hair and came out with a hand covered in dust.

“Listen,” Frederick said, “I have a proposition.”

Lon’qu waited, but Frederick said nothing more.

“I’m listening,” Lon’qu said.In the distance, he heard crickets.Though he couldn’t see them, in the fields far beyond the edge of Ylisstol, fireflies were just emerging, flashing softly in the night.

“I offer a truce,” Frederick said.“We have our disagreements, but we are on the same side.We have no need to fight.”

Lon’qu thought about it.There were many things he could say to ruin the moment—just about anything concerning Lissa was sure to do it.Yet, he found that he did not want to.

“You’re right,” Lon’qu said.“You’re right.”

Frederick blinked at him like he was something impossible.Standing outside of the currently vacant home that they’d just finished putting a roof and walls up for, the world felt impossible.

“We should head back,” Lon’qu said.

“Yes,” Frederick said.“Yes.”

* * *

Lissa couldn’t sleep.

It was late, the sun was long set, and dinner was a long time gone, but she still found herself standing by the window in her quarters—repaired early on by Frederick, who insisted on doing it himself—and watching the world down below.There were lights in Ylisstol, candles and oil lanterns, but little movement.The grass of the courtyard down below, which had been wild when they had first arrived, was cut down short again.A few bushes and trees waved in the distance under a gentle breeze.

This was the peace they’d fought for, so why couldn’t Lissa sleep?

She had told Raimi about the nightmares—about the battlefield, about what she’d done.Raimi, and not Maribelle—Maribelle hadn’t ever killed anyone.Lissa felt horrible going to her about it, though she’d made sure that Maribelle didn’t feel like Raimi had replaced her, because she hadn’t.Raimi was like Frederick, only younger, and more like herself.

Of course, the real problem with Frederick was _love_ , and Lissa wasn’t even sure what love _meant_ beyond family.On that, Raimi had advised her to wait.

“You’re young, little princess,” Raimi had said.“You have an enviable position in that you can afford to wait.Keep waiting—if they love you, they will wait, too.”

“They?” Lissa had asked, though she already knew.

Raimi had spoken carefully: “Your knight Frederick may well love you as he has claimed, but I know of at least one other who admires you.He cares for you tremendously.”

_Lon’qu_ , Lissa understood.There was no one else both Raimi and Lissa knew so well.

As Lissa leaned against the window, she wondered.Before the war, having a partner was something she and Maribelle had talked a lot about.Maribelle was keen on marriage, particularly to someone who shared her ideals about an equal state with a fair judicial system.Lissa was less certain.She didn’t want to be alone, but she was afraid—afraid of anyone finding out she didn’t have the brand, afraid of marrying someone only to discover that it was her title they were after.

Plenty of suitors had come to woo Emmeryn, though she had turned them all away.The attempts had gotten worse as a result, with blowhards and braggarts lurking around the castle, but Emmeryn had won out in the end, thanks in no small part to the people of Ylisse.Lissa wondered if they would offer her the same support.

In the end, it didn’t matter, she guessed.She had time, like Raimi said.She was young.

Movement down below caught her eye: two figures approached the palace, walking side by side.It took a moment for Lissa to recognize Lon’qu and Frederick in the dark, though they cut distinctive silhouettes.They walked across the courtyard, then out of sight, no doubt over to the barracks.A candle was lit, then swiftly blown out, and all was still again.

Lissa moved away from the window and climbed back into her bed.Chrom had found her a mattress, so even without the palace fixed up like it used to be, it was infinitely more comfortable than being on the road.She didn’t miss the rocks and the odd fortresses they’d had to hole up in, but it was jarring, going from that to this.She wondered if she’d ever be herself again.

As she huddled under blankets, alone in her room, she shut her eyes and told herself there would be time.She thought of Emmeryn and Chrom, of Frederick and Lon’qu, of Maribelle and Sully and Raimi and Miriel—all of the people who’d worked to keep her safe, to bring her to this moment.She had survived.

As her eyes drifted shut, she thought about going into Ylisstol and helping with repairs, and picking violets, and practicing with Raimi.She thought about studying with Miriel and teasing Ricken and helping Chrom with whatever he needed as the new King.

Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, all unfolded in front of her, a life full and happy and joyous, regardless of what she decided to do.

Lissa shut her eyes.She had time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that. I began this work in 2013 with every intention of this being a one-off piece. It grew to four parts, and now, finally completed, it's more than I ever imagined. This work has seen me through the second half of college, some of the highest highs and the lowest lows. If there's anyone still out there who's reached this point, I hope you derive some enjoyment out of this. The road is long, but we have all of the rest of our lives.
> 
> \- Tokyo


End file.
